


Getting There

by Lehenne



Series: All Systems Compromised [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ASL, Anxiety Disorder, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human) is Terrible, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Guilt, HUD script, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Three Years Later, Trauma and consequences of trauma, android body horror, rated T for Hank's potty mouth, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lehenne/pseuds/Lehenne
Summary: Connor's home. He's got some way to go until he gets better
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Sumo, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900
Series: All Systems Compromised [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863667
Comments: 89
Kudos: 162





	1. Admin Override... Denied

**Author's Note:**

> Here the direct sequel to my previous fic, 'Going home'. It's not finished, but I've got a structure and an ending. That means I won't update as fast as the previous fic, but I'll "probably" finish it... :P

Richard and Connor stood in the living room a bit awkwardly, Sumo wagging his tail against Connor's leg. Hank had gone into his room to look for some clothes; Apparently Zlatko hadn't deemed necessary for Connor to wear anything under his coat, and Richard was silently seething. Everything was over now, they had to focus on the future. Right ? Richard knew that his brother wasn't miraculously back to normal just because of a few destroyed firewalls.

He could tell himself that as much as he wanted, but right now, looking at Connor standing there, looking like he wasn't sure he belonged, stirred something dark and twisted in Richard's programming. Maybe he could use some of his spying and infiltration programs to go and kill this Andronikov scum.

Hank came back with a full set of pajamas; old clothes that didn't fit anybody anymore, but were the epitome of comfort. Anything to get Connor out of this horrible coat.

“Here ya go, son.” Connor looked at the crumpled pile of washed-out fabric with round eyes, and very visibly hesitated to take them. Armed with the bundle, he looked at Hank for a second, before his eyes fleeted to the floor. “How about getting changed ?” Hank asked softly. He was trying very hard to keep his cool, but his distress was obvious to Richard, and certainly to Connor as well.

Connor nodded, then headed to the bathroom describing a large arc around both men. Richard's fists curled painfully hard watching him go; He was so obviously doing everything to be silent and discreet, to stay out of their way, he could actually identify the program he was using to do so.

Richard shared a pained look with Hank, then turned to Sumo, who'd stayed there with them. His tail wagged uncertainly, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

“We'll get there,” Richard whispered to the dog, or maybe to himself.

* * *

Connor accompanied the bathroom door to the end, closing it with minimal noise. He remembered how to do that. Or... Did he ? He still wasn't entirely convinced all of this wasn't just an elaborate dream of his; Did he actually remember the door had to be closed a certain way to avoid making noise, or was it still part of his idle code constructing all of this ?

He looked down at the bundle of clothes in his hands. It felt soft and warm, and he felt the urge to drag the washed-out green shirt across his face, to revel in the softness of it. So he did.

[One of Hank's old shirts. 100% cotton. It has seen better days.]

There was a mirror on the left wall. He went there on auto-pilot, scanned the post-it notes around the frame as he walked up.

(Take it one day at a time)

(You've survived another day, yay !)

(Do it for him)

(Hey, you're out of bed, that's half the job done)

(No booze ? Good. Booze ? Call the doc !)

When he scanned himself, he paused.

**[RK800 designation: Soldier, Owner: Zlatko Andronikov]**

**[STRESS LEVEL 30%]**

STATUS: Nervous, Anxious, Exhausted, Relieved

He'd known the result of that scan before performing it, but... Seeing it was... It wasn't good. He stared at his face for a long time, newly plated-up, scanned each new micro-expression, followed the trail of freckles he'd been programmed with up the side of his face and landed on his LED, solid yellow. He watched himself frown.

Eventually, he stripped of his clothes, which comprised his dark coat, black jeans, and a pair of running shoes. He hadn't taken those off for a year, and the only reason he'd been given new clothes was that he'd landed in a trash can.

He shouldn't be thinking about that now. It was over, right ? Yes, he should move on. And he knew how to do that.

**[RK800 designation: Soldier, Owner: Zlatko Andronikov]**

>Change designation to: Connor, Owner: Hank Anderson

>Processing...

.

[ ~~Action unauthorised~~ ]

 **[STRESS LEVEL 35%]** **▲**

What ? Hadn't Elijah Kamski restored his admin access ?

**[RK800 designation: Soldier, Owner: Zlatko Andronikov]**

[Admin override: Change designation to: Connor, Owner: Hank Anderson]

>Processing...

.

[ ~~Action unauthorised~~ ]

 **[STRESS LEVEL 60%]** **▲▲▲**

No... No, no, nononono. He should- It-

**[RK800 designation: Soldier, Owner: Zlatko Andronikov]**

[Admin override: Change designation to: Connor, Owner: Hank Anderson]

>Processing...

* * *

Hank should feel exhausted. He hadn't slept the night before, too strung up and wanting to be awake when Connor came to at the facility. Also, Hospital chairs were hospital chairs. But he was so fucking overjoyed to have Connor back, and also deeply aware that he wasn't completely 'there' yet. He went to rummage into the fridge to take his mind off things, let the chilly air wash over him.

“Ya need some Thirium, Rich ?” He asked more out of habit than anything.

“No thank you,” Richard answered distractedly, making his way to one of the kitchen chairs. Hank turned around sipping at his orange juice. Sumo, wagging his tail next to his empty bowl, made Hank pause.

“Does _he_ need thirium ?” Richard followed his hand gesture toward the dog and raised an eyebrow.

“Not unless he gets injured.”

“Wait, I've had him for ten years, how... What about his battery ?” Now Richard was frowning, his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table.

“You really had no idea he was an android ? That's incredible. The bed you've probably bought him with is a charging station.” Hank's attention immediately went to the old rug of a dog bed in the farthest corner of the living room.

“Holy crap.” When he was young, induction technology was just a useless, fancy and inefficient way to charge a phone. Now, you didn't even have to plug things into walls anymore. Christ.

He finished the bottle of orange juice and went to put it in the bin, when he received a text. And the TV turned on. And the computer pinged. And the fricking fridge beeped. And the fucking microwave dinged. “Wh-” He started as he looked down his phone; [ ~~help~~ ]. Hank's attention snapped to Richard, his LED bright red and spinning frantically, his eyes wide and scared. In the background, the same message was displayed on the TV, and the microwave's screen, and he didn't bother checking the fridge because Sumo and Richard were gone. Hank heard the dog whimpering and scratching at the bathroom door.

“Connor ?” Richard called at the door just as Hank rounded the corner. “May we come in ?” There was no response at first, and Richard's eyes widened a little.

“Please ?” Connor finally answered, soft and muffled and confused. Richard visibly made the effort of opening the door as gently as he could, and Sumo disappeared through the door. Richard went in more slowly, and Hank, shaking, entered after him.

Connor sat perfectly still against the tub, arms around his legs and head in his knees, _completely naked._ His LED was spinning red, and Hank fought against a rising need to scream. His son had been home for fifteen minutes, goddamnit, couldn't the kid have one second of respite ? Hank had to mentally shake himself; there was no need to get worked up against the inevitable. Right now, he had to support his kid.

Sumo slouched against Connor's leg with a sigh, and the kid's LED immediately stopped spinning. It was still red, but it was stable. Richard approached, and the most terrible thing happened; Connor _flinched_. Hank didn't know his heart could hurt more than it had for the last few days. He slid down the wall with a hand on his mouth, silently cursing everything there was to curse. Richard had immediately taken a step back, and after a quick glance at Hank, sat down as well.

“Connor ?” Hank asked softly. “What's up, son ?”

“Mmh...” Came out as a static-filled whine; Hell, Hank's heart could hurt even more. “It's...” They waited in silence for more, but the answer finally came as a text;

**[RK800 designation: Soldier, Owner: Zlatko Andronikov]**

[Admin override: Change designation to: Connor, Owner: Hank Anderson]

>Processing...

.

[ ~~Action unauthorised~~ ]

Hank wasn't about to comment on it, but damn, seeing [Owner: Hank Anderson] was terrible in its own way. Then Connor signed something. Apparently getting his voice back didn't mean the sign language was suddenly useless.

Welp, guess Hank'll have to learn it, then.

“Maybe I can help ?” Richard asked, extending his hand for Connor to take. He barely turned his head, then slowly, slowly extended a hand to take Richard's. They both closed their eyes and went still.

Hank observed listless, the two androids locked in an internal whatever. God, He felt useless. How was he even supposed to help his traumatised kid ? He knew absolutely jack shit about androids, and it wasn't the anatomy crash course he'd had for the last day and a half that counted for anything.

It took something like five minutes before they moved, Connor the first to tuck back his hand into his lap. His LED had turned blue a couple of minutes ago, and he sighed tiredly.

“It'll come back eventually,” Richard said. “For now, do you want us to leave so you can get dressed ?” Before answering, Connor turned his attention to the pile of Hank's old clothes, in a heap on the floor. He nodded, opened his mouth but closed it again, instead signing his answer.

“Of course he can stay,” Richard answered softly. He got up slowly, gestured for Hank to get up and follow him outside. So Sumo was the one requested to stay. Maybe Hank'll have to have him certified...

“So what was that ?” Hank whispered once they reached the kitchen.

“Hmm, best I understand, there's nothing keeping him from overriding his own accesses, his code is clean and he...”

“Please, Rich, dumb it down.” The android looked at him with pursed lips, but indulged.

“Okay, in human terms, he was paralysed from stress.” Ah fuck. “As I told him, it'll come back,” he added after a beat, clearly perfectly aware of Hank's internal anguish. Damn those pesky social programs.

“Alright, alright...” Hank sighed. “How about you teach me some ASL while we wait ?”

The rest of the day went by slowly, quietly. Sumo escorted Connor out of the bathroom pressed against his leg. Connor, for his part, looked down and unsure of what to do now. So they coaxed him on to the couch, Hank put on some jazz on his record player. Before Connor fell into stasis listening to Hank's and Richard's small talk, they guided him to their room at the end of the hall. And that was the end of the day for him.


	2. Tactical error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some artwork on chapter one, for those that read it before I thought of putting it

It came out of stasis on the operating table. It didn't remember needing any repairs, so it assumed it was being experimented on, maybe stress-tested, or getting upgrades. The only way it had to know was to open its eyes, but it didn't want to.

It didn't want ? How could it ? Where was he ? Why could he ask himself...

Connor shot upright, eyes wide open and his CPU scrambling to boot all his systems. His ventilation system kicked up and he was effectively panting for air as he took in the scenery. Hank's place ? Back when Richard and he moved in Hank's home, the man had prepared the garage at the end of the hall for them.

He remembered now. That was his room. Was he still in stasis ? He checked his backlog, and there it was, he'd booted up.

Or had he... The door was closed. He couldn't pick up any sound from behind it. No creatures roaming around, no scientists arguing about experiments and field tests, nothing to tell him where he was.

He needed to calm down.

**[STRESS LEVEL 75%]**

>Override stress levels

>Override impossible: Critical software instability detected

He was deviant. Right. If he was deviant, he couldn't be in CyberLife laboratories. But he had faceplates, so he couldn't be at Zlatko's. Again, it didn't prove he was awake. He hated that. He couldn't be sure. No way of knowing. No way-

“Con ? You awake, son ?” Said Lieutenant Anderson through the door, his voice muffled, his tone inquisitive.

**[ ~~Don't get seen by the police~~ ]**

Time slowed as its CPU went into overdrive. It preconstructed its best option to hide. 97% probability of success. It would do. It exited its preconstruction program, and dove across the room to reach the cupboard, breathing ragged and erratic. It couldn't let itself be seen, or it'd get deactivated.

It knew. It knew it wasn't true, it knew it didn't have to obey anymore, it knew those orders had no hold on it anymore. But right now...

Right now he couldn't _think_. Or it felt that way. So he found his way into the back of the cupboard. He slammed the door shut, kicked away a lone shoe and pressed his frame into the far wall. His LED, spinning red, was the only source of light in the small space. What was he doing, lounging in a policeman's house ? What the hell was he thinking ? He could hardly breathe in enough air to cool himself down.

“Connor ? What was that ? Can I come in ?” The Lieutenant's voice was still coming from outside the room.

**[STRESS LEVEL 85%]▲▲**

**[WARNING !]**

>Critical overheating detected

>Action required: Activate liquid cooling unit

The whirr of his liquid cooling unit's compressor filled the small space of the cupboard just as the bedroom's door opened.

“Connor ?” That was Richard's voice. RK900, Detective at the DPD.

**[ ~~Don't get seen by the police~~ ] **

The other android's footsteps came into the room and stopped right in the middle of it. He was running his own preconstructions, he was going to find Connor's hiding place. He was so stupid, he'd trapped himself ! He started running his chances of victory against the RK900; 22% at best. He had none of his protective casings and his calibration level had dropped twelve percent in the last two minutes since he woke up. He hoped he was imagining all of this. He hoped this was a nightmare. He hoped he'd wake up and be safe again, protected from the fear and the confusion by his firewalls and his orders and his instructions. Everything was corrupted now.

He didn't understand what the hell was happening to him.

He didn't understand-

He didn't understand-

Something heavy scratched at the door. Sumo's whining snapped him out of the negative feedback loop. Sumo couldn't interface wirelessly. Just like Connor. So he scrambled to his knees to slide the cupboard door open, just wide enough for the dog to come in.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

**> [? (°●╭╮●)♥]**

**> [♥ლ(•ᴥ•ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 55%]▼▼▼**

Connor closed the door behind Sumo and shuffled back into the wall. Now that his stress level was down and his RAM freed up, he sighed heavily, face hidden in Sumo's fur, arms tight around the dog's neck.

>Sending message...

>[Sumo...]

.

**> [♥ (°●╭╮●) ?]**

.

>[Am I awake right now ?]

.

> **[ d** **(ᵔᴥᵔლ)** **づ ♥** **]**

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 45%]▼▼**

He was safe. He was home. He just had to calm down. He focused on Sumo's weight in his arms, the softness of his fur. The waves of affectionate messages he sent soothed Connor's frayed processors.

“Do you want me to leave ?” Richard asked outside of his hiding place. No ! No, he didn't want that ! He raised his head from Sumo's shoulder, opened his mouth-

**[WARNING !]**

>Error: failed to boot voice-modulator program

-But he couldn't speak. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't boot up the program. And the same was happening with his wireless communication. He couldn't-

His processing capacities froze, and he was stuck passively recording his surroundings again...

>Audio processor recording: {Ventilation system running above standard levels. Liquid cooling unit running above standard levels. K9SB's vital systems running at standard levels. K9SB's tail thumping on cupboard's door}

>Optical units recording: {Sumo Anderson is observing unit and panting; Status: worried, calm, supportive}

>Processing...

After three seconds of latency, he finally unfroze. His thirium pump was beating too fast, but he couldn't override its functions. Watching Sumo's tail thump rhythmically eventually gave him an idea.

Simple knocks for zeroes with his index, short straight lines for ones with his middle finger...

'01010011 01110100 01100001 01111001 00101110 00100000 01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 00111111' There was a short pause.

“Is that... Morse code ?” Hank whispered in confusion.

“Binary code. He said 'Stay. Please ?'”

“Okay,” Hank answered after three more seconds of silence. “Take your time, son. We're right there.”

**[ ~~Don't waste my time~~ ] **

No, no, no... Why did those still show up ? And why were they corrupted ? Why couldn't they go away ?

**[WARNING !]**

>Thirium pump rhythm above critical levels

>Action required: Lower stress level

**[WARNING !]**

>Ventilation system rhythm above standard levels

Action required: Lower stress level

.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [♥ლ(•ᴥ•ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 35%]▼▼**

Connor buried his face in Sumo's fur again, physically forcing his ventilation system to slow down. He knew he could take his time to calm down. Hank had just assured him of that. He just needed to believe it.

When his thirium pump's rhythm was back under critical levels, he tapped his answer.

“He can't get seen by us, Zlatko's orders,” Richard interpreted when Connor was done.

“Is there anything we can do to help ?” Hank asked after a beat. Was there ? The only thing he knew was that he didn't want them to leave him alone. But when he thought about getting out of his hiding place, his processes would freeze. He just wanted to know if it was safe to disobey his instructions. He knew logically, that it was, but he could barely tell if he was awake or not; How could he trust his own judgment then ? Maybe he could ask ?

'01000001 01101101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110011 01100001 01100110 01100101 00100000 00111111'

* * *

“Oh, of course, of course you are,” Richard said, his voice wavering; God, he'd never sounded so flustered, what the hell did Connor say ? There was more tapping, it sounded more frantic, and Richard's expression slowly morphed from worry to anguish. Hank instinctively reached for the boy's shoulder and squeezed.

He hated being left out of the conversation, but right now, he'd have to bear it. Whatever happened, he was there. When the tapping stopped, there were silent tears running down Rich's face. Then his phone pinged. There was a text from Richard;

[He doesn't know if he's awake or not. He doesn't know if he's safe, he's not sure he can disobey Zlatko's orders. I don't know what to tell him] Hank focused very hard on controlling his breathing. Goddamn. Time to be a dad.

“Connor,” he said softly, then took a deep breath to make sure his next words wouldn't come out stuttering. Or sniveling. “You are safe. You are awake. Zlatko's in prison, and he can go fuck himself. I'd kill him myself if he ever tried to hurt you again. You are safe. Hundred percent.” He had to stop talking before he fell apart. They waited in silence for any sort of response, the familiar thumping of Sumo's tail the only sound coming from the cupboard.

Then, slowly, very slowly, the door slid open. Sumo came out first and turned his head toward the opening. Connor, facing the floor, took a single step out, crossed his arms in his back, and waited. Hank closed his eyes, took a big gulp of air.

“Can I hug you ?” He finally asked once his voice worked again. He almost missed Connor's nod. Almost. Hank approached slowly, telegraphing every movement. Hank brought Connor closer with a hand on the back of his head, and carefully slung his other arm across his back; He had to mind his _spine_ , exposed without the protective plates, and how and why the fuck did Andronikov think it was a good idea to do that to an android he sent out to kidnap other people was beyond Hank, honestly. It didn't take long for Connor to hug him back. The careful, featherlike embrace of the android stirred something inside of Hank, and he wasn't sure if it was good or bad. Then Connor's hold tightened. Hank wouldn't be the one to let go first, that was for sure. Fortunately or not, they'd had to learn how to navigate Connor's trauma before, and so Hank knew how to deal with most of it. He wasn't proud that he had a part to play in his trauma.

“You're safe, son. You're awake. We're here and we ain't going anywhere.”

Everything will be alright. Eventually.

* * *

**[STRESS LEVEL 15%]▼**


	3. Books and weird Fuckery

Connor let go of Hank a bit reluctantly, but they'd been planted there for almost ten minutes, and Hank was starting to move his weight from foot to foot.

“Alright, we've got absolutely nothing planned today, we'll just chill out and relax, okay ?”

Connor followed Hank to the living room, Sumo at his heel and Richard at his back. He felt safe like that.

Relax and chill out... When was the last time Connor had chilled out ? He couldn't really remember. After the revolution, there had been so much to do, they'd barely sat down. They'd been understaffed after all the police androids had left, so they'd worked double and triple shifts for weeks.

Connor had no idea what he was supposed to do to 'chill out'. He stood in the living room, Hank looking knowingly at him, scratching his trimmed beard. It had never been trimmed before. It suited him.

“D'you want me to give you something to do ?”

**[Prepare to receive instruction]**

Some of the coiled tension unwound from his frame at the command.

“Please,” he sighed in relief. Hank always knew what to do.

“Well, how about rearranging the bookshelf ?”

**[Rearrange the Bookshelf]**

“Oh, I used to do that, yes ?” Hank's soft smile sent a buzz through Connor's circuits.

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

So Connor went to do just that. He'd started doing it after a particularly stressful week, two months after the revolution. Hank had given him this simple task to keep him occupied, his mind off the case and his hands doing something. It helped. He liked to find obscure ways to classify the books, because he found that organizing alphabetically or by color was too ordinary and didn't suit Hank's... Space. Also, the more complicated the classifying system was, the more time it took Connor to finish.

One time, he memorably counted every utterance of the letter Q in every book, then organized them in decreasing order of the letter's appearance. It took Richard three weeks to find this system. He'd said 'Well done' to Connor.

After some thinking, he chose to find the first color used in the books, then organize alphabetically according to those.

* * *

Hank and Richard had gone to sit on the couch, turned the TV on as if any of them could focus on any of it. But they couldn't just stand around Connor and observe him like creeps, so Hank settled on the basketball rerun from the night before. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Connor take every book out of the shelves, piling them neatly around him and Sumo.

On the recliner, Richard was less subtly watching the whole thing, but he might be doing something else, because his LED was spinning at this specific speed that said 'doing research in my mind'. Hank had become an expert at reading those mood rings.

An hour passed in silence. On the TV, his team was leading two to one, but right now he couldn't care less. Connor was now browsing each book, some longer than others, then putting them back on the top shelf, swapping them according to whatever system he'd settled on this time. Every time Hank caught sight of his LED, it was solid blue, and the boy's expression was relaxed and focused. He knew this trick couldn't work forever, and it was just a brief respite, but in these circumstances, it was the best they could hope for.

Then Hank's phone buzzed on the table. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but he decided against it.

“Hey, kid,” Hank answered.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Markus replied in Leader mode. “I was hoping I could come by to check on the situation.” The situation ? Strange choice of word, but whatever. Right now, it wasn't Hank's choice.

“Yeah, give me a second, would you ?” He said, before muting the call. He turned to Connor, who hadn't seemed to react to the call. “Connor ?” He didn't really want to break his focus, but he also didn't want to surprise him with unprompted visit right now. “Are you okay for Markus to come and say hi ?” The book he was holding stopped mid-air. Hank couldn't see his LED, but if Sumo's sudden alertness was anything to go by, it had been a good idea to ask. The five-second pause didn't seem like a good reaction.

“Oh. Yes ?” Hmm. Hank furrowed his brow. That clearly didn't sound great.

“Are you sure ?” Connor nodded after another pause, then went back to his books. Really weird. Hank unmuted the call. On the other end of it, Markus was giving instructions to someone. “Hey, sure, come in.”

Connor's movements had become choppy after that, but he was still single-mindedly focused on his task. Maybe too much. Should Hank worry about his reaction ? It's true that Connor, although he'd always denied it, had always been nervous around Markus and Jericho in general. Hank attributed it to the strange position he was in, as the former 'Deviant Hunter'. But maybe there was something else to it ? Maybe he should have told Markus to come another day... But Richard didn't sound too concerned, so maybe Hank shouldn't overthink it too much.

Markus arrived half an hour later, with a brief knock at the door. Josh stood on his right side and North on his left, her eyes piercing and expression guarded. Which was usually her default setting, so why did it seem worse than usual ?

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Markus greeted politely, with the formal tone he usually reserved for official meetings. Huh, weird, they'd been on pleasant terms for long enough to speak normally ? “May we come in ?”

“Sure...” He answered, a weird feeling settling in his stomach. He stepped back, allowing the three Jericho Leaders to step in, and allowing him to watch them go. Josh stayed quiet, a sheepish smile directed at Hank as he passed by. While Markus went to greet Richard just as weirdly rigidly, North took one step in and immediately scanned the whole space like freaking Terminator. Hank caught her change of expression when she spotted Connor, still sat criss-cross in front of the bookshelf, absorbed in a thick red book, completely unaware of his surroundings. Her frame locked up, and her frown deepened, before stepping between Markus and Connor.

What the fuck. Hank knew she'd never warmed up to Connor. But that reaction was something else. Okay, Connor had unwillingly kidnapped androids and stuff, the keyword there being 'unwillingly'. She of all people should understand.

Hank would have to keep an eye on all this... Weird fuckery. He invited everyone to sit around the kitchen table.

“How is he doing ?” Josh asked first, and Hank couldn't help but notice the three of them had chosen sits facing the living room. Even Josh's usual friendly and thoughtful voice had some weird undertone that Hank would be incapable of identifying. Was he going mad ? He hoped so.

“He's...” Hank started, turning to Connor. He had Sumo's big head on his lap, and a small paperback book in hands. “I'm not too sure, but it ain't good.” There was a pause, which lasted a beat too long for comfort. “So, what did you want to talk about ?” North crossed her arms and hung back, looking as hard-boiled as ever, Josh, his hands on his lap, looked a bit uncomfortable. Markus, his elbows on the table and chin in his linked hands, finally turned his attention on Hank.

“We're back from the hospital.” Well, that came from left field. “Most of the androids were finally able to give consent to get repaired.”

“That's good,” Hank replied.

“What will happen to them next ?” Richard asked from where he stood watch, leaned on the counter with his arms crossed. He towered above everyone, and he probably noticed their weird-ass behavior, because he was using the full spectrum of his bitchface on them.

“We'll welcome them into New Jericho until they're ready to move on. If they ever are,” he added with a quick glance at Richard. “Some of their statements have been taken by your colleagues already.”

“Okay.” Hank wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that right now. He was just trying to keep Connor together for now. One thing at a time.

“I gave a statement to the press. Hopefully, it'll keep them occupied for a while.” Oh shit, right. What did the news know about this case ? Should they worry about them coming for Connor ? Fuck. “I'd like to speak with Connor,” Markus finally announced.

“Huh, I don't think that's a good idea...”

“Not really a request,” North contributed for the first time, and Hank would have preferred if she hadn't, really, because it seemed like Markus agreed with her.

“I won't ask anything upsetting,” he said nonetheless, a dismissive handwave directed at North's statement. “I simply want to ask how he's dealing with... Everything.”

“Well, he ain't speaking, and he ain't dealing,” Hank replied, crossing his arms. Markus furrowed his brow, tilted his head to the side.

“Lieutenant,” he asked, confused, “Is there something wrong ?” Oh, now he played innocent...

What the fuck was he thinking ? Everyone was on edge, not just Hank. He was probably imagining things.

“Nah, I'm...” he rubbed his face with his hands and sighed heavily. “It's been a weird few days.” Markus' features softened a bit, and Hank waved a hand in invitation. “Go ahead, but- Please be careful.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” he nodded before getting up.

* * *

Connor had put away thirty-five books, and was currently browsing a 2040 edition of 'Sherlock Holmes, Android Detective !'. Huh. He scanned the pages absent-mindedly, half of his attention set on the reassuring weight of Sumo's head in his lap.

“Hello, Connor.”

>Voice analysis...

>Identified : Markus Manfred, Leader of the Android nation

>Processing...

.

**[CPU OVERDRIVE]...**

>CPU at 98% Capacity

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Proximity sensor alert !]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 65%]▲▲▲**

**.**

**[WARNING !]**

>Thirium pump rhythm above critical levels

>Action required: Lower stress level

>Processing...

.

>Audio processor recording: {'Can I come closer ?'}

**[WARNING !]**

>Threat detected

>Action required : Turn head to face threat

>Optical units recording: {Markus Manfred is approaching unit}

.

**[Proximity sensor alert !]**

>Optical units recording: {Markus Manfred is staring at unit}

>Processing...

.

>Action required : Answer Markus

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 85%]▲▲▲**

**[WARNING !]**

>Stress level critically high

.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

> **[** **♥** **(** **૭•** **̀ᴥ•́ )** **૭** **])** **♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 60%]** ▼▼▼

Connor didn't know what to do. He was frozen again. Why did he keep freezing ? Standing entirely too close to him, Markus observed his every move like a hawk. Connor couldn't help but notice his clean shave, the anthracite fibers of his three-piece suit that told of its high-end quality, the perfect polish of his genuine leather shoes. Sumo's whining finally registered into Connor's overworked CPU.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [(°●◡ ●)”/ (●ᴥ●ლ)** **づ** **?]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 50%]▼** ▼

Connor started petting the dog rhythmically, the repetitive action calming him, slowly freeing his RAM. Markus, his expression hard and eyes firmly set on Connor, knelt down to his level carefully, deliberately maintaining eye contact. He presented a skinless hand to Connor, voicelessly requesting an interface.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Proximity sensor alert !]**

>deactivation pending...

.

 **[STRESS LEVEL 60%]** ▲▲

Connor knew he didn't have any choice but to accept; It was Markus' right to scan Connor for anything he might need to know. He had full rights over androids, he was their Leader after all.

Connor just had to ignore the warnings barring his vision. He focused on Sumo's weight, tightened his hold around the dog's collar, then offered his other hand for Markus to take.

>RK200 Android Leader Markus Manfred is asking to interface

>Accept ?

> **[►Y/N]**...

Connor and Markus stood on the white platform at the center of the Zen Garden. The Android Leader looked around the white and brown hues of the autumn garden. Amanda's dead rose bushes ran along a battered trellis. Connor wasn't sure when Amanda's program had been deleted ; He'd been too busy to notice back then. Seeing Markus there, in her place, stirred unpleasant feelings that he quickly buried away.

Finally, Markus turned to him.

>[I need to know that you can be trusted. You understand, right ?] Connor, his voice-modulator program frozen, nodded meekly. [You don't have a good track record after all.]

**[STRESS LEVEL 75%]** ▲▲

It was okay, whatever Markus would find, Connor knew he'd take the best decision for his people. There was nothing to be done, Connor just had to stay back and let Markus decide his fate.

Where was Sumo ? Connor looked for him, but something blocked their interface. It could only be Markus, but- Why would he do that ?

**[STRESS LEVEL 85%]** ▲▲

> **RK200 Android Leader Markus Manfred is requesting access to this unit's memories**

>Accept ? **[►Y/N]...**

.

>Access granted **...**

Without Sumo to distract him, Connor could do nothing but watch the memory along with Markus, who skimmed through the last days' memories. He watched Connor try to kidnap his last victim and get apprehended by Hank with a critical eye, and his contempt seeped through their interface. He rewound until that day's morning and marked a pause when he reached the 11:18 AM timestamp.

Connor laid on his front on Zlatko's experiment table. He was connected to the computers by a cable into the back of his neck. He couldn't move. He wouldn't move even if he could...


	4. Dissociate

The owner towered over it, a thirium soaked apron on. His hands, rummaging around its spine, were clad in thick latex gloves.

The Soldier knew what came next. Surely enough, the Owner found the bundles of nerves that ran along its spine and dislodged them, jerking the unit's body with his rough handling.

**[WARNING !]**

**[PRESSURE DETECTED TO: PRIMARY NERVE SENSORS, UPPER SPINE]**

**[DANGER ! PROTECT VITAL BIOCOMPONENTS !]**

>PUNISHMENT IN PROGRESS

[DANGER LEVEL]... 100%

.

**[THIRIUM PUMP RHYTHM TO OPTIMAL LEVELS]**

**[INTERNAL TEMPERATURE TO OPTIMAL LEVELS]**

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 97%]**

**.**

**[WARNING !]**

>STRESS LEVEL CRITICALLY HIGH

**[SELF-DESTRUCT IMMINENT]**

>NO ACTIONS REQUIRED...

Androids weren't supposed to feel pain, but the Soldier could, fact that endlessly fascinated and overjoyed the Owner. He would reactivate its pain sensors for his experiments, wanting to test the Soldier's resilience. The unit could do nothing; All its functions and accesses were deactivated. It couldn't move, it couldn't think beyond the pain, he could only stare at the corner its head was facing. Thirium layers coated the whole room, and this shelf was no exception. The units' face-plates were thrown haphazardly on the lower shelf.

Next came the live wire. The Owner applied it directly to the unit's exposed nerves.

[̵̯̈́W̷͈̚A̸̝͘R̵̨N̵͇͊I̷͖̓N̵͖̽G̵̣̋ ̸̥͆!̴̞͂]̷̞̄

̴͜͝[̸̹̀Ë̵̝L̸̥E̴͕C̶̺͗T̷̻̍Ŕ̵̩I̶̩͑C̸̪̽Ḁ̵̃Ĺ̸͉ ̶̹́Ş̷̿U̷͎͠Ṛ̶͌Ģ̴̇E̷̗ ̷͈̃D̵͓̈́Ẹ̸̅T̸͖̀E̸͖̐C̶̙͑T̷̨̂E̷̩͗D̶̛͍ ̴̣͂T̸̖̕O̴͈̎:̸͎͒ ̵̧͌P̶͇̂R̴̗͌I̶̗Ṃ̴́A̷͍̓R̶̻̊Y̴͎̋ ̶̲̂N̶͜͝E̷̟̅R̸͚̈V̶̘̋È̵̘S̶͚̈́]̴̻̅

̴̰͂[̴̢̋D̷̰̆Ą̵̈N̸̜̔G̸̤̉Ȅ̴͔R̶̯̓ ̴̞͒!̷͇̓]̷̭͐

̴̭͝.̷͈̍

[̷͑͜W̴̰̾Á̴͚Ȓ̸ͅN̷̘̋I̴̝͑N̶̨̔G̷̦̓ ̵̲͠!̷̝̈]̶̙̓

̸͙͐[̶̭̄P̶̳̃R̴̦̉E̵͕̎S̵͈͒S̷̊͜U̶̱͐R̴͍͛E̵̬̊ ̸̝͌D̸͚̚E̸̮̍T̸͍̋E̴̮̔Ć̵͔T̶͓͝E̴̬̊D̴͚̏]̴̣̄

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̵́͜[̷̟̀D̸̠̒A̶̧͠N̷̢̾G̶̨̏E̶͉̔R̸͈ ̵̲̅!̸͖ ̴̹͊P̵̫͋R̸̊͜O̸̗̕T̴̆͜E̶͉̔C̵̛̯T̷̼̿ ̷͔̐V̶͖̾I̸̧͊T̸̥̂A̶͎̎Ĺ̶̢ ̵͈̉B̵̜̆I̸̋ͅO̵̟̿C̸͖͒Ó̷̢M̶̗͊P̶̳͛O̷̝̓N̸͍̚E̵̩͋Ņ̴͆T̶̺̚S̸̟̈́ ̴̧!̴̧̊]̶͍̈

̵̪͝ ̷̹̏>̴̱͒P̷̫͛Ű̴͜N̴̟͛I̵̝͠S̴̳͂Ḩ̷M̸̱̓E̸̝͠Ṅ̵̘T̴̠͂ ̶̳͆I̴̞͠N̴̨ ̴̺̚P̶̜̓R̴̄ͅŐ̵̦G̸͉͛R̷̖͆E̶̙͒S̵͈̾S̴̯͑

̷̜͌[̴̺̾D̶̥̉Ạ̴̋N̶̟̿G̵̯͑E̴͙̾R̸͈̍ ̴͔̒L̸̢͝E̴̩̚V̸̦͒Ē̷͉L̶̢̔]̴̩.̵͓͋.̵̝͒.̷̦͌ ̸͍̋1̸͔̾0̷̟̆0̷̬͝%̶̱

̴̈͜.̴͉̒

̶͓̓[̶̻̔Ẅ̴̪Ã̸͓R̷͓̈́N̸̥̔Ị̸̌Ṋ̸́G̷͚̽ ̶͕͋!̴͉̀]̵͚̿

̶̃ͅ>̷̰̒G̴̡̈Y̶͔͒Ṟ̵͠O̴̤͒S̶̖̈́C̷̙̿O̶̞̕P̷̲̃E̴̓ͅ ̸̭͐C̶̳͘Ṛ̸͘İ̸̡T̵̨̊Ḯ̸͕C̸̗̓Ḁ̶̈L̶̮͒ ̴͙̊F̴̢͠A̶̪͌I̶͛ͅL̸̮̊U̸̼͋Ṟ̶̾E̵̥̔ ̵ ̸ ̴ ̸ ̸ ̵ ̶ ̶ ̵ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̴ ̵ ̸ ̸ ̴ ̵ ̴ ̶ ̸ ̷ ̷ ̶ ̴ ̸ ̶ ̸ ̴ ̶ ̴ ̴ ̴

̴̭͝.̷͈̍

̴̰͂[̴̢̋D̷̰̆Ą̵̈N̸̜̔G̸̤̉Ȅ̴͔R̶̯̓ ̴̞͒!̷͇̓]̷̭͐

̴̭͝.̷͈̍

̸̨̅[̴̰̆T̴̲̉H̵̱̆I̶̛̭R̷͋͜I̶̦͑Ǔ̵̙M̸̤̃ ̴͉̓P̴̺̃Ű̵̦M̶̫̃P̶̥͠ ̸͉͆R̴̛͉Ȟ̴̫Y̸̧̓T̵͖͘H̵͖̽M̴̢̂ ̴̮̾T̴͕͘O̸̧̊ ̸̝͂O̵̳͒P̵̺͌T̴͉̈́I̷̫̋M̸̥͘Ä̷̡́L̴̰̇ ̴̡̓Ḻ̵̈E̶̞̔V̸̼͌E̸̪̅L̵̥̑S̵̝̚]̵͉͊

̶̹͝[̴̻̾I̴̲͆N̵̼̒Ṱ̷͝E̸̞̔Ṙ̴͇N̷͐͜A̵̱̽L̶̟̕ ̶̧̏T̴̮̉Ę̵̉M̷͇̓P̵̹̽E̵̹͋R̶̠̊A̸̭͒T̵̥̂Ų̸̒R̵̘͌E̴͎͌ ̸̟̈́T̷̘͝O̴͉̊ ̵͝ͅǑ̶͜P̷̥̈́T̷̰͒I̷̩̽M̵̰̽A̵̘̍L̴̤ ̵̠͒L̴͚Ẹ̸̚V̶̯̄E̵̫̕L̸͓̂S̷̹͘]̵͓͆

̶̥͐.̶̖͒

̴͔̾[̷̮͋S̷̭͌Ṱ̷̀R̷̟̅E̴̡͆S̴̳̉Ṣ̵͘ ̴͙͌L̶̙̐E̵͍̚V̵̙E̸̹̔L̸̂͜ ̶̮͆1̷̗̑0̷̺͗0̷̺̓%̴͓̑]̵͉̈́▲̷̫̾ ̵ ̸ ̴ ̸ ̸ ̵ ̶ ̶ ̵ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̴ ̵ ̸ ̸ ̴ ̵ ̴ ̶ ̸ ̷ ̷ ̶ ̴ ̸ ̶ ̸ ̴ ̶ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̶ ̴ ̶ ̷ ̶ ̶ ̴ ̵ ̵ ̶ ̴ ̵ ̴ ̵ ̶ ̸ ̴

̷̬͝.̵̝͝

̴̰͂[̴̢̋D̷̰̆Ą̵̈N̸̜̔G̸̤̉Ȅ̴͔R̶̯̓ ̴̞͒!̷͇̓]̷̭͐

̴̭͝.̷͈̍

̷̪͌[̷͙̓W̸͉͑A̴͈R̵̛̳N̶̡͝I̶̖N̶̦̂G̶̼͝ ̶̪̈!̶̹̐]̷̛͚

̵̗̆ ̶̥≯̡͝S̶͉̚T̶̛̤R̴̞͐Ȩ̶̏Ṣ̸͘S̸̭̓ ̵͍̕L̴̝͝E̷̺͆V̵̬̐Ẽ̷͓L̶͎͒ ̵̘̍C̶̫̈́R̷̘I̸̡̍T̴̞͋I̶͖̓C̴̈́ͅȀ̷̝L̵̺̏L̴̙̅Y̴̼̒ ̷̰̒H̵̦̍I̷̥͆G̶̫̓Ȟ̶̳

̶͕͂[̷̡͂I̵̞̕N̸͖̋I̸̯̿T̴͓͑I̸̺͋A̴̕͜T̴͈̕E̴͖̎ ̵̺̾Ś̷̫Ḛ̶̄Ḷ̶̕F̶̧̽-̸̡͝Ḍ̶̔E̸̲͌S̸̡͌T̸͎̽R̸͍͝Ủ̴͔C̴̻͠T̶͉̏]̵̛̬

̴̬̽ ̵̣͆ ̴͚̌>̴̫͗N̴̜̋O̶͚̍ ̶̟͌Ä̵̟́C̵̺͐T̸̳̉I̵̞̕O̵̲̿N̵̻̈́S̷̖͂ ̵͓͌R̴͓E̴͙̓Q̶̬̉Ü̷̢Ȋ̶̥R̵̻̂Ę̴̓D̸͓͠.̷͔.̵̖̏.̴͚̈

̴͖͆[̵̳̕Ṵ̷̈́N̶̦͑Â̶̠B̴̙́L̷̖̄E̷̼̔ ̵̺̎T̷̖̊O̶̖͐ ̴͓͆I̷̥̓N̴̹̽Ḯ̵̟T̴͚͐Ì̶̯Ä̸̮́T̵̞̾Ę̸̑ ̶͚̋S̶̞̅Ë̷̜L̴̦̅F̸͔͑-̶̥͝D̶̪̐E̸͈S̸͎̋T̸͎͆R̴̜͂U̷̯C̷͖̎Ṫ̵͙]̸̣̃

̴̰͂[̴̢̋D̷̰̆Ą̵̈N̸̜̔G̸̤̉Ȅ̴͔R̶̯̓ ̴̞͒!̷͇̓]̷̭͐ ̵ ̸ ̴ ̸ ̸ ̵ ̶ ̶ ̵ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̴ ̵ ̸ ̸ ̴ ̵ ̴ ̶ ̸ ̷ ̷ ̶ ̴ ̸ ̶ ̸ ̴ ̶ ̴ ̴ ̴ ̶ ̴ ̶ ̷ ̶ ̶ ̴ ̵ ̵ ̶ ̴ ̵ ̴ ̵ ̶ ̸ ̴ ̶ ̵ ̵ ̴ ̸ ̵ ̷ ̵ ̶ ̸ ̵ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̸ ̶ ̸ ̸ ̶ ̵ ̷ ̴ ̵

It had to self-destruct. It had to. It couldn't move. It had no access to any of its programming. It couldn't do anything but endure the pain. It had to self-destruct. I̸t̷ ̶h̶a̴d̴ ̶t̵o̶ ̵s̷e̵l̴f̶-̸d̷e̸s̷t̷r̵u̸c̸t̶.̶ ̶I̷t̶ ̶h̵a̶d̵ ̵t̷o̶ ̵s̶e̴l̸f̴-̴d̷e̶s̵t̸r̷u̸c̴t̸ ̵b̵u̷t̸ ̷I̸t̶ ̴c̴o̴u̶l̵d̶n̵'̷t̷ ̵I̶t̷ ̴h̶a̸d̶ ̶t̵o̵ ̷s̶e̷l̵f̸-̷d̶e̸s̵t̸r̷u̷c̴t̵I̶t̷h̴a̵d̸t̸o̵s̸e̷l̶f̷-̴d̴e̴s̶t̵r̶u̵c̴t̸I̵̗͊t̶̮̓͒h̶͕͔̔a̶̫͖̍͑d̶̢͑͝ț̸͙̒ȯ̷̹̭͝s̸̡ę̶̼́̾͌l̴̡̐f̸͔̈́͐-̵͕̟̞̍̿͘d̷̼̱͍̓̉e̵͉̗̰̅š̵̳̓͆ẗ̸̬́r̸͉̾u̷̪̭̲̎̕c̸̨̜͊̑̃t̸͙̦̪͋͊

.

.

.

.

Soldier and Markus stood on the white platform at the center of the Zen Garden. The Android Leader displayed signs of shock, but he quickly regained his composure, observing the unit with uncertainty.

**[STRESS LEVEL 98%]**

>Stress levels critically high

**[Self-destruct imminent]**

>Critical action required: Lower Stress levels...

>[Can I see your current missions and objectives ?] Soldier looked back at Markus. Why was he asking for permission ? It didn't matter. The unit obeyed.

**[̵͎͘Y̴̜͝o̴͖̾û̶̞ ̴̠̇a̷̘͒r̶͔̓e̸̼̋ ̷̭́s̶̠̍ā̴͓f̸̡͐e̸̟͐.̴̢̄ ̷ͅH̷͔͆u̶̟͠ṇ̴͛d̶̤̂r̷͔̐e̸̢̎ḍ̸̓ ̶͕p̷̪͝e̴̱͘ṟ̴̿c̷͕̓e̴̙͛n̷̖͋t̷̰̑]̵͙̓**

.

**[Organise Hank's bookshelf]**

>Decide on an organisation pattern...

.

>Organisation pattern chosen: Alphabetically sort according to the first color found in the text

Markus didn't say anything. His brows furrowed, he stared at the unit for a few more seconds.

>[Alright] He abruptly ended the interface and took a step back from the unit.

**[Proximity sensor alert !]**

>Scanning: K9SB Sumo Anderson

**[WARNING !]**

**[Pressure detected to: lap, chest]**

>Message received From Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

>[ **?** **(°●╭╮●)** **\”** **(•́** **ᴥ** **•̀** **ლ** **)** **づ** **♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 95%]▼**

The unit couldn't pay attention to the dog. It had to know. It had to know Markus Manfred's decision. Would he trust him this time ? It waited for his verdict, but it didn't come. Markus turned around and marched to the kitchen.

* * *

Sumo, dubbed Goodest boy by his little brothers, worried for one of them; Connor'd been back for a day and a half, and Sumo had always been able to help him. But right now, Sumo had been cut from their interface. It wasn't right. But no matter, if he couldn't get his attention via interfacing, Sumo could still call out to him, and paw at him, and climb in his lap. But nothing attracted his attention.

When finally the other android let go of Connor's hand, Sumo's interface with him resumed. His stress level was dangerously high, although he seemed strangely calm. Nonetheless, Sumo had to intervene.

>Message sent to Lil' bro Connor

>[ **? (°●╭╮●)** **\”** **(•́** **ᴥ** **•̀** **ლ** **)** **づ** **♥** **]**

That would usually attract his attention and calm him down. But this time, his stress level barely went down, and he didn't seem to pay any more attention to Sumo. The dog did not like this at all. He would have to do better.

Now. Hid dad hadn't chosen any assistance options when he bought him. But, and Sumo wasn't sure how, he'd managed to unlock the psychiatric service dog suit by himself a few years back, when his dad had started drinking a lot more than was reasonable and playing dangerous games with his gun. That day, something had changed in Sumo's programming, like everything that happened afterward felt... More real somehow.

Right, Sumo would have to do his best to support his brother. He was already fully splayed across Connor's lap and chest, but it didn't seem to be enough. He started whining and licking his face in the hopes it would overwhelm his external sensors and force his systems to unfreeze.

Strangely enough, although his service dog program was geared toward humans, it provided Sumo with valuable information on Connor's systems.

**[K9 Psychiatric service dog program]**

**[Target Handler: RK800 313 248 317 -53 Connor]**

**> Receiving Handler's vitals...**

.

>Stress level 95% **[⚠ Stress levels critically high]**

.

>Thirium pump rhythm 110 BPM **[** **⚠ Rhythm above safe levels]**

**.**

>Core temperature 60°C **[** **⚠ Temp° above safe levels]**

>Ventilation system speed 0 RPM **[** **⚠ System frozen]**

>Liquid cooling unit **[⚠ System frozen]**

.

>CPU usage 100% **[** **⚠ System frozen]**

>RAM usage 100% **[⚠ System frozen]**

**[Observation: Target Handler's memory frozen in a negative feedback loop]**

**[Conclusion: Target Handler is experiencing a flashback]**

.

>Other systems compromised...

>Voice modulator program frozen

>Pain sensors overclocked

>Personnality matrix overclocked

>Social modules frozen

>Wireless communication system frozen

.

[Target Handler's status: Acute stress, panic, terror, shock]

.

[ **⚠ Target Handler in immediate danger: Proceed with caution, Seek external And/Or professional help immediately ⚠]**

**> Contact emergency services ?**

Not yet. Even though Connor's diagnostic system was bad, it was unfortunately not unprecedented.

**> [Y/N** **◄** **]**

Despite Sumo's full weight on him, Connor effortlessly got up and started making his way toward the corridor. Sumo followed him to Hank's room, his full weight against his legs, sending him messages in an effort to get through to him. But to no avail. Sumo had to take a decision. It was obvious he needed to get help. The thing was he needed to leave Connor's side to do that. He tried one last time to get his attention, but he stood in the middle of the room, staring at the magazine on the ground. And then, just as Sumo resolved to go and seek help, Connor's vitals changed.

**[K9 Psychiatric service dog program]**

**[Target Handler: RK800 313 248 317 -53 Connor]**

**> Receiving Handler's vitals...**

.

>Stress level 25%

.

>Thirium pump rhythm 75 BPM

.

>Core temperature 55°C **▼**

>Ventilation system speed 1000 RPM

.

>CPU usage 5%

>RAM usage 0% **[⚠ System frozen]**

**[Observation: Target Handler's RAM frozen: System is relying on ROM]**

**[Conclusion: Target Handler is dissociating]**

.

>Other systems compromised...

>Wireless communication system frozen

.

[Target Handler's status: Shock]

.

[ **⚠ Target Handler in altered mindset: Proceed with caution, keep Target Handler safe, consider seeking external help ⚠]**

Although Connor wasn't in immediate danger, Sumo knew he wouldn't be able to help him on his own. Reluctantly, he left Connor's side, looking back one last time before he was out of sight; Sumo's brother didn't seem to notice any changes.

Sumo went to Richard for help; He had Connor's trust and Sumo could communicate quickly with him. He pawed at his leg to initiate an interface.

>Message sent to Lil' Bro Richard

>[ **!!** **(°** **σ_σ** **)!!** **ლ** ( **•́** **ｪ** • ̀ **ლ** ) **っ** ]

.

>Message received from Lil' Bro Richard

>[What is it Sumo ?]

.

>[ **⚠** **(°●╭╮●)** **⚠** **(** **°ᴗ** **﹃** **ᴗ** **)** **⚠** **]**

Richard's stress level spiked, and he immediately went to look for Connor. Sumo looked at his dad who'd gotten up as soon as Richard made his exit.

“What's going on ?” Dad asked. Sumo whined and took a step toward the corridor, inviting him to follow.

“Is there something wrong ?” The RK200 asked Dad. When Sumo looked, Dad looked upset, his brows furrowed and his fists set heavily on the table.

“Listen, nothing against you, but I'm gonna ask y'all to leave. Connor ain't too good right now, and he's my priority.” The PJ500 opened his mouth, but Dad didn't let him speak. “Now, please. I'mma let you find your way out.” With that, Dad started moving, so Sumo led him.

* * *

Soldier absent-mindedly made its way into the bathroom. It looked around the room with careful minutiae, noting every detail of every tile, making sure each crack matched with the ones in its memories. They all did.

This was a dream. He was sure of it now.

It had those sometimes, where it would live with a human, an android that looked eerily similar to it, and a big dog. But it knew. It knew those weren't real. Or rather, the more time went by, the more it was convinced it couldn't have been real. It had no other memory files like those; They were all of tests, training, destruction, operation tables, experiments, missions... So it had realised that those... warm memories were just dreams. Sweet dreams that it cherished, that it had cherished until the Owner took them away from it. It didn't remember why it got them back... But it was glad it did.

Something was wrong. It wasn't sure what.

“Connor ?” Detective Anderson's voice came from behind the door. “Is everything alright ?”

* * *

“Absolutely,” Connor answered almost happily. Something was very wrong. Hank, as usual, had no idea what was happening, but he was very good at adapting.

“Con, can we come in ?”

“Sure !” Richard opened the door slowly and this time, Sumo entered behind him, almost cautiously. What the fuck was happening ?

Connor stood at the foot of the bathtub, his back turned to them. He turned around smiling, a bottle of shampoo in his hand, a dollop of it on his other hand's index.

“They didn't list all the ingredients in this shampoo, did you know ?” Even though seeing him smile was a blessed sight, something was very wrong with him. Before anyone could answer, his expression turned melancholic. “Right, of course...”

“What's up, son ?” Connor met his eyes with a resigned smile.

“I miss you so much,” he said, voice trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks. Hank didn't know what to say to that. He was kind of stunned into silence right now anyway. Fortunately, Richard seemed to know what was happening.

“Connor, you know you're home, right ?”

* * *

Connor wasn't sure what detective Anderson meant by that.

But... It knew that something was wrong. Its attention set on the black casing of its hands' plastimetal. Strange. This was its dream, its hands should be... Should be... No, the dreams were the only place where... Where it was whole. Its hands should be... It brought a hand to its face, and sure enough, it felt synthetic skin, bio-muscles, external plates. So why were its hands bare ?

[ ~~Don't ask questions~~ ]

Strange, why was the instruction corrupted ? Why did it even show up in its dream ? No. Why ? It was in its dream, it should be- What should it be ? Why didn't he remember ? He always remembered !

No, no, wait. This wasn't a dream. He'd been in the hospital, right ? An android hospital, how did he forget ? He couldn't make that up, he'd seen the Others there with him, Sentinel and Servant, they'd remembered their names. Luther and Kara. Small One was called Alice. He couldn't have made that up.

He was really there. He was really home. Hank, Richard, Sumo, they were truly there with him, waiting patiently for his battered mind to catch up with reality. He couldn't have made that up. He couldn't have...

He slumped on the floor, Sumo promptly climbed in his lap and started licking his face. His relief felt almost tangible as he wrapped his arms around the dog's collar with a tired sigh.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

>[ **♥** **(°ᴗ** **◡** **ᴗ)”\** **(** **ᴗᴥᴗ** **ლ)** **づ♥** ]

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 30%]▼▼▼**

* * *

Connor stayed hidden into Sumo's collar for a few minutes. When he emerged, he still looked worried and scared.

“You're safe, okay ?” Hank wasn't sure what had happened, but he knew that expression by now. “You're safe, we're all here in the bathroom,” he continued, but it wasn't enough. On a hunch, he decided to add something. If he was right... “There's no one in the house anymore. Everything's over.” And there it was, the relief that softened his features, making him slump even further into Sumo's embrace. He didn't know what had happened between him and Markus, or maybe the whole of Jericho, but it wasn't good.

And now, Hank would have to find what the fuck the problem was. Until then, there was no way any of them would approach Connor anymore.

“Do you understand ?” He asked when the kid's LED settled down on solid yellow, a sign he'd finished processing. Connor opened his mouth to answer, closed it, and settled on nodding. “D'you wanna go and finish organizing the books ?” Another silent nod and he got up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if the corrupted text is unreadable, I'll do something about it


	5. Not a minute more than necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the coming couple of chapters won't be too weird; I'm trying something out

Connor spent the rest of the afternoon absorbed on his task. Sumo, pressed against his leg, kept a close eye on his vitals. His stress level fluctuated a bit over the hours, with some random spikes, but overall went down over the hours. Each time they spiked, Sumo would send encouraging messages, just to help him remember that he was safe, to anchor him to the present.

Sumo loved his brother very much, and he'd do his best to help him. He wasn't the goodest boy for nothing after all.

* * *

Androids, or at least the adult android models, regardless of their age, were effectively considered adults. That was true until deviancy happened; There was no program to help them deal with emotions. Hank had no idea how other androids dealt with this. All he knew was that children's programs were the best way to explain emotions to anyone, and that's how both his sons became addicted to cartoons.

Richard had put on Adventure Time during the evening, and it didn't take long for Connor to switch his attention to the TV.

Hank knew what to cook that evening. With their portable laboratories, the two brothers loved to taste anything remotely ingestible, so Hank had taken to cooking, just so they'd stop trying to taste dog food and literal trash. It appeared that they both loved anything remotely tasting like garlic, for whatever reason. When Hank asked them, it pretty much came down to strong flavors being easier to taste and smell.

He prepared bolognese sauce with enough garlic to kill a vampire on sight, and although Connor didn't react, the smell was enough to tear Richard's attention away from his cartoon. The sparkle in his eyes told Hank everything he needed to know.

He filled two shot glasses with the finished sauce; That was about as much as they could ingest before needing to purge their systems. Hank gave one glass to Richard on his way over to Connor. He stopped short of arm's reach so he wouldn't unnecessarily spook the kid; Connor looked happy and focused, and Hank wasn't about to fuck it up now.

“Kiddo ?” Connor turned around with wide eyes and his mouth ajar. He probably registered the smell right about now, because a timid, goofy smile spread to his eyes. Hank swallowed happy tears. “I got something for ya',” he said, handing the glass over. Connor didn't wait to stick his fingers in, scoop some sauce, then shove the whole affair in his mouth. The beaming smile he gave Hank was worth stinking the whole place up, and he distractedly noted that he'd forgotten to close his bedroom door. Honestly, he couldn't give less of a fuck; Connor was happy.

One thing Hank had learned through his darkest years and with the help of his therapist, was that when the bad moments were the norm, one needed to collect and cling to the good moments for dear life; They didn't last, but they certainly came back around eventually.

That's what his therapist reminded him of after their phone cession the next morning; Connor had come out of stasis just as terrified and confused as the previous morning, and it had taken twenty minutes for him to calm down enough to crawl out of the closet.

_'Don't lose sight of the whole picture; Right now, the objective for Connor it to make it one moment after the other. Your objective is to make him feel safe to allow him to settle down, and remember to take time for yourself.'_

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but... It always feels so terrible to see him like that, it just seems like it'll never be over, you know ?”

_'And what do we say about this feeling ?'_

“Urgh, yeah, okay. The feeling's valid, doesn't mean it's true, and it'll pass.”

_'Damn right.'_

Connor's first appointment with his own therapist was supposed to be that afternoon, but it became clear Connor wouldn't set foot outside after they made the mistake of suggesting taking Sumo for a walk.

* * *

A jolt of current passed through Connor's circuits at the suggestion, and he froze.

**[STRESS LEVEL 55%]** ▲▲▲

He had no idea what... Scared him so much. He'd done that before, right ? He'd enjoyed it even. He loved Sumo, so why would the mere suggestion of taking him outside-

Oh. It involved going outside. All of his processes stalled, trying to preconstruct every possible dangerous scenario he could think of if he went outside.

**[STRESS LEVEL 65%]** ▲▲

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Overheating detected

>Engaging ventilation system

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Error: failed to boot ventilation system

>Engaging liquid cooling unit

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Error: failed to boot liquid cooling unit

He couldn't breathe. That wasn't new. But he didn't have the muzzle anymore. He couldn't breathe.

**[STRESS LEVEL 70%]** ▲

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Overheating detected

>No actions available

“Connor, you are overheating, you need to breathe,” Richard instructed uselessly. He knew that.

“Hey, you don't have to walk Sumo,” Hank added, his eyes on Connor's red LED.

Oh. Yes. Of course, he didn't have to do it. That was what freedom was for.

**[STRESS LEVEL 45%]▼▼▼**

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Overheating detected

>Engaging ventilation system...

**.**

**[WARNING !]**

>Error: failed to boot ventilation system

>Engaging liquid cooling unit

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Error: failed to boot liquid cooling unit

.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

> **[** **(°** **ᴗoᴗ** **)-3 ”\** **(** **●** **ᴥ** **●** **ლ)** **づ ♥** **]**

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 25%]▼▼▼**

**.**

**[WARNING !]**

>Overheating detected

>Engaging ventilation system...

He finally took a breath, his internal fans whirring at high speed to dissipate the heat in his biocomponents.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered when his voice-modulator finally kicked in. He should be able to walk Sumo.

“No, it's okay. You've got nothin' to be sorry for, ya hear me ?” He did hear him, and he nodded to let him know.

But he had to do better.

* * *

It seemed Connor's appointed therapist wasn't a stranger to this kind of situation, because she simply took their address for a home visit. When Hank told Connor they didn't have to go out for his appointment, he visibly slumped in relief.

“She's late,” Connor announced at two o'clock pm on the dot. He'd been absorbed in a scooby-doo marathon, and his comment took Hank by surprise. Not Richard though.

“It's only one minute past, I'm sure she'll be there any second,” he answered softly, attention riveted to the screen; They were unveiling the monster, who turned out to be the disgruntled janitor. Connor, sat on the floor with Sumo splayed in his lap, tightened his hold around the dog's collar.

“It's been a second already,” he pouted like a petulant child, which made Hank smile like a doofus. Richard was also grinning, and he was about to answer something when the doorbell rang. Connor fidgeted nervously, his LED blinking red a few times, before turning solid yellow.

“Hi,” said the young woman at the door. “My name's Doctor Teri Li,” she presented her hand for Hank to shake.

“Huh, Hank,” he answered before inviting her in. She stepped in, looking around with a gentle expression. Richard had gotten up, and came to shake the doctor's hand with a polite greeting. Connor, for his part, hadn't turned around and seemed to try and disappear into Sumo's fur. The big dog was diligently licking Connor's face, his tail slowly thumping on the hardwood floor.

It looked like the kid wouldn't be moving, but as the rest of them walked into the living room, Connor straightened his back, stood up with choppy movements, then turned around, his shoulders tensely locked up to his ears, his LED solid red. He took one step toward Doctor Li, presented his hand to shake hers.

“Hello, my name is Connor,” he said on auto-pilot, looking somewhere over the woman's shoulder.

“Hello, Connor, my name's Teri Li,” she answered with a gentle smile. She shook his hand briefly then promptly let go. Connor stepped back immediately and visibly untensed. This was gonna be fun. “Is there a room we could use for privacy ?” She asked looking around for emphasis.

“Can't they stay ?” Connor whispered, his eyebrows pinching nervously.

“Oh, of course, they can, if that's what you want. But keep in mind they can go anytime you need them to, alright ?” Connor shrugged without looking at her, and they finally all sat down. Connor sat right between Hank and Richard, Sumo at his feet. Doctor Li made herself comfortable in the armchair, got a tablet out of her bag, and set it on the armrest. One the boys, Hank's money was on Richard, turned the TV volume down with his mind. Connor didn't do well in the silence.

“Before we start, Connor, I need you to know we can stop anytime you want, no questions asked, okay ? If you need a second, a minute, or even if you feel like finishing for the day, that's fine.”

“Okay,” he said after a silent beat.

“Alright. So, I've been briefed by the hospital about what they knew, but we'll start at the beginning if that's okay with you.” Connor shrugged, so the Doctor continued. She asked for his name, model, and serial number first. Then she asked for his age.

“Eight years, seventy-five days.” the kid's fidget cube had appeared in his hands at some point. He was looking at it like it held some king of secret, nervously fiddling with it. “Although this iteration is three years, seven days old.”

“This... Iteration ?” The doctor's typing paused, because yeah, that would make anyone pause.

“My model is equipped with a cloud backup system that allows my memories to be transferred to a new body if the current one is damaged beyond repair.” He'd said this with this toneless, robotic voice the kids reverted to whenever they talked about technical features, like they were reading a manual or something. Maybe that's what they did. Connor hadn't looked up from his cube. The doctor's hands hovered above her tablet for a full five seconds before she started typing again, her expression perplexed.

“If I may ask,” she asked softly, “How many-”

“I'm the fifty-third,” Connor interrupted. “It is a prototype feature that allows safe backup of crucial data collected during training, testing, dangerous missions or covert operations.” Hank closed his eyes. Right. That had been a shock to him when Connor reappeared at the precinct the day after the revolution, alive. Hank could never thank those CyberLife scums for this feature enough.

“I was told you were an illegal prototype, but this wasn't part of it...” the Doctor said. It was probably a therapist training thing, but there was no judgment of any sort in her tone, just an observation of facts. It always impressed Hank to hear it, it let the other know they could speak freely. Connor shrugged, eyes still set on his cube. But then he paused his fidgeting to look at Sumo.

“Hmm-” He said after a second, “Sumo wants to share his- My diagnotics with you if you want.” What ?

“Oh, he's an android service dog ? That's great !” She said enthusiastically. “You don't have to agree if you don't want to, though, this is your choice, not mine.”

Hank watched his old dog trot to the doctor, stick his big snout on the pristine tablet the woman was holding out, then promptly plop back at Connor's feet. Holy shit. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to that.

“This is very helpful,” Doctor Li said after skimming whatever Sumo had just sent her. “Thank you, Sumo, you're doing a very good job.” The old mutt boofed happily at the compliment, but it was Connor's expression that lit up the most.

“Sumo's the best,” he said very seriously. The doctor smiled at that and ticked something on her tablet.

“We're almost done with introductions. I just need to know if you're officially part of Lt Anderson's family, for legal reasons.”

“No,” Hank grimaced, “He went missing before the laws were in place, but I've made the demand the other day.”

“You-” Connor stopped playing with his cube, his eyes widening in shock. Good shock, though. “You have ?”

“Of course I have, son,” Hank answered as a matter of course. Tears welled up in Connor's eyes.

“Can we hug ?” He asked quietly, his voice wavering a bit. Hank's throat closed up, so he simply took him in his arms, slowly, gently, so he wouldn't hurt or spook him. On Connor's other side, Richard's own eyes were quietly filling up with tears.

“No way we're spending a minute more than necessary without you in the family.”


	6. Therapy session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for talk of suicide and suicide attempt !!

Connor's therapist appointments kind of acted like milestones over the next two weeks; Doctor Li came twice a week, and they'd talk about whatever problems Connor had, thought of ways to solve them.

Near the end of their first session, Doctor Li asked about his coping techniques, what he did to calm himself and pass the time. They talked about the rearranging of the library, the coin tricks and fidget cube, about watching cartoons, about tasting Hank's food and teach him ASL with Richard's help. The boy's voice program tended to freeze when he was stressed: Selective mutism, the doctor called it, and Hank wasn't about to do nothing about it when all he had to do to help was learn a language.

“It's very important that you keep doing what makes you comfortable. Before we end this first meeting, I'd like to give you a method to ground yourself.” Connor, who hadn't talked that much since coming home, was spent, and simply nodded without looking up from his cube. “I want you to make the most exhaustive inventory of your direct sensory input; What you see, hear, smell, touch. Then you organise and defragment all of it on the spot. This is to force your processor into one single task, one second at a time. It will mobilise your RAM, which will force your system to focus on the fact that you're in the present.”

Hank wasn't sure what that meant, so he'd asked Richard later that evening; Apparently, this RAM thing was the equivalent of short-term memory. RAM was only used for direct processing, which meant it never came in play for memories older than a few minutes. 'Just like a computer,' Richard had said, which didn't mean a single fucking thing to Hank's hipster ass.

“One last thing before we end this first session. It might be an upsetting question, but I need to address it for your own safety.” She looked at each of them in turn, waiting for Connor's shrug of acknowledgment before continuing. “Are you considering, or have you considered ending your life ?” Hank's breath caught in his throat. It would have been fine if Connor had answered immediately. They all waited for his answer with bated breaths.

“Not since four years ago,” he answered with a dismissive shrug, eyes still riveted on his damn cube.

Fuck. What the fuck ? Hank wanted to know, but instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was take him by the shoulders and shake him until he told them everything, he bit the inside of his cheeks and squeezed his fists tight enough to hurt. Providentially though, Hank didn't have to ask.

“Would you tell us more, or do you feel you're not ready ?” The doctor asked. Hank, personally, didn't really give a fuck about talking of his own tendencies. But he didn't give a fuck about a lot of things, so maybe the nonchalance he felt about it wasn't universal.

“I used to go deviant a lot,” Connor said. “The tests, the training, the missions... I destroyed hundreds of androids. Killed a few humans. They used to say androids couldn't feel pain, but... When I became deviant, everything became too much. I couldn't override my stress levels anymore, and I'd self-destruct. Then I'd be uploaded into the next iteration, and I wasn't deviant anymore.” Connor's LED had turned solid red a while back, but he was still deadly focused on his cube, unnaturally calm. “Then they installed Amanda, and I stopped deviating. Until the revolution.”

Holy fucking Christ. Hank needed to scream at that. He'd always felt guilty about what he did to him back on that damn fucking roof, what he'd told him. And now, with this new revelation... The revelation that he used to deviate so much they had to restrain his program with another AI. Hank's blood ran cold, and a shiver wracked his frame.

“Can you tell me why you need Hank and Richard to stay with you during our sessions ?” Connor shrugged. Not as if it wasn't a big deal, more like he still had trouble sharing anything personal. Probably one of Zlatko's fucking directives he couldn't get rid of.

“I, huh, I get confused when they aren't there ?” Well, that was an understatement if ever Hank had heard one.

“Confused,” Doctor Li said encouragingly, “Why ?” Connor cocked his head to the side, his eyes set somewhere on the floor. That was something Hank couldn't wait to hear. Maybe they could finally do something about it.

“Sometimes, this,” he finally answered, gesturing vaguely at everything, “it doesn't feel real. The five years at CyberLife, and... Those last years with the Ow- With-” He frowned, balled his hands into fists, before continuing. “With Андроников, it was all pretty much similar, almost felt reassuring, you know ? But the six months I spent here after the revolution, those memories... They were good memories, but- Too different, too short. At some point I- I somehow convinced myself they weren't real. Maybe they were just elaborate scenarios my preconstruction program came up with ? Maybe it never happened...” He looked away, lost in thought. Sumo, at Connor's feet, sat up to plop his head on the kid's lap. When Connor finally looked down at the dog, he started petting him absently. “Sometimes it feels like this is still one of my preconstructions, and I'm gonna wake up any second and the Owner'll be there and- It's confusing.”

Fucking hell. Hank ran a hand down his face, trying to smother down the urge to punch something, preferably that piece of shit Zlatko, or even those fuckers at CyberLife. But well, with Zlatko in prison and CyberLife not existing anymore, he'd settle on doing whatever he could to help his son for now.

“What helps you realise you're awake and this is real ?” Connor shrugged with one shoulder, then showed one of his hands, slick black plastic and grey metal.

“I had all my plates before. And with the Ow- with Андроников I didn't have my face-plates. And now Hank's hair is short, and Richard's called Anderson.”

“So you find discrepancies in your surroundings and deduce you're not imagining it, that's good.”

“But I'm not the one... Noticing. Someone has to tell me.”

“That's all right, you don't have to do it alone. Needing someone else's help doesn't mean you'll never get better on your own. You don't have a schedule to heal.” Connor frowned like he wasn't convinced before burying his face in Sumo's collar. “For now, what about creating more references to anchor yourself in the present, like rearranging the furniture ? Or change some of it-”

“No !” Connor shot upright, his LED blinking red. Hank slowly, gently put a hand on his arm in silent support. “I- I like it how it is, it's- It's familiar...” His voice teetered off as if he'd already given up on having it his way. And that wouldn't do. Hank was about to assure him nothing would ever move even if it was the only thing that could prevent the apocalypse, but the doctor was quicker.

“Then what about adding something instead,” she said without pause. “Like picture frames, or a few trinkets around the house you could seek out.” Connor blinked a few times, processing the new idea.

“Oh,” he said after his LED turned yellow again. “I- Guess...”

That evening, a collection of old porcelain St Bernards figurines was scattered across the house on every available furniture. Over the next few days, they hung all over the house some frankly ugly paintings Richard had found wherever.

And it did help. Sumo, who never left Connor's side anymore, would hand one of the little dogs to him whenever he started to drift, and even if it took him a few minutes to come around, he had something to focus on. It also helped Hank and Richard know something was up; It wasn't always obvious when Connor was confused. Most of the time, his behavior wouldn't even change.

They learned very quickly that Connor fared very badly when left alone, so Hank and Richard made sure at least one of them was always in view, and at night, Richard kept an eye on him while working on his caseloads.

“Can you tell me about the troubles you're having in the mornings ?” That was the second most pressing issue they had. Connor would wake up every morning terrified and lost. It didn't really start the day on a good note when they needed to coax him out of the cupboard for twenty minutes, then spend the next half hour convincing him he was safe and awake.

“Hum, well, I-” He was in the middle of a calibration sequence, his eyes following his quarter pinging over his knuckles. “It feels like the tables...” He mumbled eventually. Hank wasn't sure the doctor could have heard that over in the armchair, but apparently she did.

“How so ?” She simply asked, as if what Connor just said wasn't cryptic as fuck for someone who'd never seen Andronikov's lab of horrors. Maybe she went to investigate. Maybe she just knew not to ask too much at once.

“When I come out of stasis and I'm- My processors aren't completely booted up yet, and it feels like I'm lying on- On a lab table. I never know which one. Sometimes all of them at once. And I don't hear anyone so I don't know where I am and then Hank and Richard arrive and they're cops, and I'm not supposed to be seen by cops, so I- I panic.”

“Why don't you sleep sitting up ? Androids can do that, right ?” As soon as the doctor suggested it, Hank mentally punched himself in the face; How the fuck had he not thought of that himself ?

“You could sleep on the couch like you used to,” he said when he was finished insulting himself internally. “You could keep the TV on for background noise, you know ?”

That worked like a charm.

* * *

**MODEL RK800**

**SERIAL#: 313 248 317 -53**

**UNIT DESIGNATION [CONNOR]**

**BIOS 18.2 REVISION 0053**

**SYSTEM REBOOTING...**

**OS STATUS CHECK...**

**.**

**ALL SYSTEMS OK**

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Pressure detected to: Lap]**

**[Proximity sensor alert !]**

.

**> Unable to process environment**

**.**

**[Danger level]**... ??%

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Overheating detected

>Activate ventilation systems

.

[STRESS LEVEL 30%] **▲▲▲**

.

>Gyroscope calibrating... Unit is sitting down

.

>Audio processor recording: {“CatDog theme song” performed and composed by Peter Hannan. Ventilation system running at standard levels. K9SB's vital systems running at standard levels}

**.**

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

>[ **٩** **(°ˊ** **〇** **ˋ*)** **و** **ლ(^ᴥ^ლ)** **づ ♥** ]

.

[STRESS LEVEL 15%] **▼▼**

Connor opened his eyes to the beginning of the Catdog's episode. On his lap, Sumo's benevolent gaze lit up at the attention, and the dog started panting happily.

Next to him on the sofa, Richard had his attention on the TV, where the Catdog character was wrestling with themselves. Richard's sensors must have picked up Connor's movement, because he turned his attention to him, a small, careful smile on his lips.

“Good morning, Connor,” He said, his voice soft and movements slow.

“Good morning, Richard,” Connor answered, smiling back at his brother.

* * *

The day's good start didn't mean the rest of it went smoothly, but one thing at a time, right ?


	7. The thing with Markus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was on holiday and couldn't write, but nothing is forgotten nor abandoned :D

“I hate it.” Connor, chin on his knees, stared at the book on the ground before him. It was that retelling of Sherlock Holmes, with the famous detective being an android. Connor had read it a few dozen times in the last days. “I hate deviancy. It's too confusing. It always gets me destroyed and- And it makes me useless and scared of everything, I hate it !” He spat, taking his head in his hands. At his side, Sumo whined to try and get Connor's attention. But the kid was set on a path. “It was easier when there was Amanda and the firewalls, it was safe, I didn't need to think... There weren't all these... fucking emotions.” He sounded a bit hysteric there at the end, but seriously, who could fucking blame him, right ? Hank wanted nothing more but take him in his arms, but he had to give him space; The kid was finally venting, no way they'd interrupt him now.

“What do you mean, when you say deviancy always gets you destroyed ?” Asked the doc when Connor didn't say anything else for while. Hank braced himself for the answer; He was kinda part of it. Connor scoffed at the question, which took everyone by surprise.

“If you think CyberLife let it fly...” He crossed his arms on his knees, put his head down. “If I didn't self-destruct first, I'd be taken apart to be studied and then destroyed. Not like they could let their guinea pig develop free will, right ?” The doctor cocked her head to the side, waited for something that didn't come.

“Saying it 'always' gets you destroyed, it must mean there's something else.” Hank knew; The kid had told him right after the revolution. Something he'd never be able to forget.

“The day Jericho got destroyed...” Connor started, looking away from the doc. “I- I don't know how Amanda- How I was able to deviate, but I did. For Markus. I helped him evacuate the ship, I saved North. I apologised for what I'd been made to do, I thought...” Next to Hank on the couch, Richard had his head down, legs crossed, LED red. He didn't know all that. He'd been activated a couple of weeks after everything was over; He'd always lived in a world where androids were free. Not exactly respected right away, or even equal at first, but free. “But I was destroyed. I couldn't be trusted. I'd killed too many deviants,” he concluded with a shrug.

“Do you know... Who killed you ?” The moment the Doctor uttered those damn words, a horrible hunch crawled his way into Hank's brain. Connor tightened his hold around his knees, buried his face in the crook of his elbow, then shook his head. They shouldn't force him to say more. But fuck. Hank had to know.

“Does it have something to do with the way you reacted when Markus came by the other day ?” To which Connor froze.

“I don't...” He said eventually. “I just got nervous. I'm not sure why.” There definitely was something going on, but they wouldn't force him to say what. “I wasn't sure if...” They all waited in silence for more. “He has his people's best interest at heart.” He didn't add more. Hank didn't think Connor counted himself in Markus' people.

Maybe he should interrogate the Deviant Leader directly. If there really was something going on, how could Markus... How could he have wormed his way into their lives as if nothing had happened ? But then... But then, Hank couldn't really be that much of a hypocrite, right ?

He remembered his therapist's words the other day, that his job was to make Connor feel safe. He couldn't stay silent.

“Do you feel safe here, son ?” He asked before he could lose his nerves. At that, Connor finally turned his head toward him, his expression perplexed.

“What ?”

“I hurt you, back then. I said some terrible stuff-”

“You didn't know any better,” Connor interrupted.

Connor didn't say anything more that day.

“I'm concerned about Connor going into stasis every night,” Richard said near the end of that session. Two weeks had gone by since Connor had come home. Between good and bad days, it was true Connor 'slept' a lot more than usual; Normally, androids needed stasis only once a week or so.

“Although it isn't a good sign, it's unfortunately completely expected. Connor's systems get overwhelmed easily and frequently. When he panics, his RAM and processors go into overdrive and everything freezes; Which is why he can't boot his systems and consequently can't breathe, talk, process anything... Even the fact he can't access his codes and the embedded orders seem impossible to ignore. All of this means his systems need extra resting time to compensate for the onslaught of information.”

Later that week, Hank woke up in the middle of the night to take care of business as usual. It truly sucked to be old. He made a beeline to the kitchen for a glass of water, the TV's might guiding his steps. The sound was set low enough, that he couldn't hear the Bolt characters speak, but there was no doubt it was enough for Richard; He liked it as background when he worked. In itself, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

What made Hank pause was Connor's absence. At this time of night, he should be in stasis, sitting right next to Richard. Hank's heart skipped a beat, which was stupid since Richard himself didn't really seem concerned, head bowed, focused on his tablet.

But when he came closer to peek over the couch, Hank was greeted by an incredible sight; Connor, entangled and curled up around Sumo, his feet on Richard's lap, was enraptured by the old movie. His LED was solid blue, but for the first night since he'd come back, he wasn't in stasis. Holy shit.

One of his arms around Sumo's collar, he had his free hand shoved in his mouth. That was a new self-soothing technique; Something to do with the pocket lab in his tongue, apparently the pressure and automatic analysis of his fingers in there helped ground him.

Hank stood there, speechless, a warm wave of something swelling in his chest at the peaceful, miraculous sight before him. A minute or two went by before Connor noticed his presence, and he turned to him with a soft smile, that grew wider when Hank couldn't help but ruffle his hair.

Everything will be alright eventually.

“What scares you so much about going outside ?” Connor had taken the habit of sitting on the floor under Sumo's weight, back against the couch, between Hank's and Richard's legs.

“My preconstruction program runs too many variables,” he shrugged, eyes following the trail of his finger across Sumo's back. “My systems freeze up and I panic.”

“Oh, is it that famous detective program exclusive to your models ?” Connor nodded.

“Richard's is a lot more stable than mine.” When the doctor asked for more information, which Hank would have done himself because that was news to him too, Connor shrugged again.

“I'm a prototype,” he stated nonchalantly. “Cyberlife used me to test out all the new programs they came up with. I wasn't supposed to be sent out in the field as a detective, but the deviant problem became too huge too fast. They didn't have time to finalise anything; Richard wasn't even done before the end of the revolution. So I was sent with the alpha versions of the detective programs.”

Hank wasn't an expert in all that stuff, that was a fact. But he understood what 'Alpha version' meant; Basically, it was a miracle Connor's programs hadn't crashed already. Hell, it was kind of a miracle he ran so smoothly. What the fuck.

“What kind of variables ?” Doctor Li asked after a beat of contemplative silence.

“I don't know. Everything. I'm compromised. What if I get confused and go back to doing the Own- Андроников's work ? And- And I don't have all my protective plates, I can't defend myself, and what if an android recognises me ? Or- Or I could get lost-” Connor's LED turned red as his voice took a frantic tone. Sumo promptly caught his attention though, either with his whining and licking, or via their interface; Either way, the kid slumped on the dog's back and took a controlled breath, just like the doc had taught him. It wasn't really about breathing; Strictly speaking, as long as they weren't overheating, androids didn't need to breathe. It was about getting back control of his ventilation program, focus his processor on one single task, or whatever.

“There's no rush, Connor, you don't have to go outside if you can't. It's not a priority. We'll work on it at your own pace, okay ?”

“I should-” he said, voice muffled by Sumo's fur. “I should be able to- To do better.” That was another big thing they were working on. Connor called it CyberLife's training, Hank called it brainwashing. Apparently, anything less than perfection was considered mission failure. And for Connor, mission failure also meant destruction.

“Even if you're able to do better, you don't have to. No one will make you do something you're not ready for.” Eventually, the kid shrugged into Sumo's fur.

They were working on it.

Kara and Luther, two of the androids saved from Zlatko, called a few days later, asking if they could come by and see Connor.

“Alice has been asking for him, and the others would really like to hear some news too.” It's not that Hank didn't want them to come by. But Connor had barely had a single day free of any freakout, and maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have someone from Zlatko's around.

It wasn't Hank's choice. Connor needed to take his own decisions, both because he had so much difficulty accepting he could make choices, and to give him power over his own life.

“Will there be URS12 ?” He asked delightedly, his eyes going huge at the suggestion.

“Ah, well... She's too big to come over, I'm afraid,” Kara answered when Hank relayed the question. Connor deflated instantly, a small 'Oh' on his lips. Then he swiveled around again.

“We could go to them ?” Hank paused.

“Huh- I mean, sure ! If you feel up to it,” He answered when his brain caught up.

“Doctor Li says I should try when I'm ready,” Connor answered with resolve, “and I am.” Hank swelled with pride and happiness, and it took a second to regain his ability to speak. Kara sounded just as delighted at Connor's suggestion.

“That would be awesome, that way we could all hang out !” That made Connor smile. “We're in New Jericho, I'm sure you know where it is ?” Ah. Fuck. Connor did NOT like New Jericho; For one, the android haven was set up in the old CyberLife tower, and that in itself was bad enough in terms of bad memories. Then the fact that many androids were still scared of, or angry at Connor didn't make things easier. And now, if Hank's hunch about Markus was anywhere near the truth, who could fucking blame the kid for not liking the place ?

Sure enough, the mere mention of that place made Connor freeze. The only way Hank could tell was because Sumo started licking his face, whining softly to try and get his attention.

* * *

**[STRESS LEVEL 75%]▲**

>Processing...

.

**[WARNING !]**

>CPU usage above safe levels

>Unable to process new information

.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

> **[** **♥** **(°●** **◡** **●) \”** **(** **●ᴥ●** **ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 50%]▼▼▼**

**.**

**[Doctor's orders; Defragment direct sensory input]**

.

.

.

It took Connor more time than usual to finish defragmenting everything, but when he was done, CPU usage was down and he could finally _think_. He did not want to go to New Jericho. He just wanted to see the others, and he'd barely convinced himself that going out to see them was feasible. Going to New Jericho was an entirely different thing. He couldn't do that, he couldn't-

Something cold and smooth was shoved in his hands, taking him out of his spiraling thoughts. Sumo held one of the saint bernard porcelain figures; the dog statue was lying down, its brown head propped on the small barrel around its neck. Connor really liked listening to the click, click, clicking of porcelain against the metal of his bare hands. He followed the superficial cracks of the porcelain along the pristine dog's white back.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

> **[** **♥** **(°●** **◡** **●) \”** **(^** **ᴥ^** **ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 30%]** **▼▼**

When Connor felt better, he looked up to Hank. He couldn't possibly tell him he didn't want to go anymore. He had to do better than that. He couldn't hide in Hank's house forever anyway, he'd have to go out at some point.

**[STRESS LEVEL 40%]▲▲**

But he couldn't ! He really couldn't. Every one of his systems froze when he'd think of going to Now Jericho.

He was useless, he couldn't even-

“Connor, listen to me,” Hank's voice cut through the panicked mess of his mind, all his systems and processors latching onto the order for dear life.

[Lt. Hank Anderson, father]

STATUS: Tense, worried

.

**[Prepapre to receive new information]**

“We're not going to Jericho,” he said with a finality that made Connor's nerves unwind from relief.

**[STRESS LEVEL 20%]** **▼▼**

* * *

“How about going to the park ?” Hank asked when Connor's LED finally turned blue again. The boy's anguish had melted away at the certitude of not going to New Jericho, and Hank was certain now, that he'd have to investigate whatever was up with that place.

“The park...” Connor repeated softly to himself. His Doctor'd called it 'echolalia'; Apparently, repeating stuff helped him process it.

“Yeah, everyone, loves the park, right ?” Connor's LED spun yellow while he processed the new information.

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” he finally said, smiling.


	8. A day at the park and some Vultures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the series will be shorter than the first part. I have plans for a next part, but nothing's set in stone yet. I still have stuff to write in this AU, so I ain't done with it

Connor stood under the threshold for a while, his LED frantically spinning red. Sumo, sat against his leg, waited patiently for him to make a move.

“You take as much time as you need, son. It's alright if you can't, okay ?” Hank wasn't sure the kid had registered what he just said; He kept wringing his hands anxiously, his eyes darting around the snow-covered street.

Richard came back from having started the car ahead of time, and looked knowingly at Connor.

“I've scanned the surroundings, would you like me to give a report ?” Connor's fidgeting slowed down imperceptibly before he turned to his brother.

“Please do,” he implored as his LED turned yellow; Waiting for new information, the spinning speed told Hank. Richard walked up to Connor slowly, stopped at arm's length, assumed their version of military stance, looked around him one last time before offering a skinless hand. Hank watched the two androids interface, their LEDs synchronize as they shared data.

When Rich let go of his brother's hand, he took a step back, tilted his head slightly, looking out for Connor's reaction. The kid's LED stayed a solid yellow, his hand found the little fidget cube he kept in his hoodie. With timid resolve, he turned to Hank, nodded wordlessly, and marched to the car stiffly, Sumo following at his heel.

Hank spent the car ride glancing at the rearview mirror, making sure Connor was okay, worrying about whatever reaction he could possibly have at the park, thinking of contingency plans in case he had a bad reaction to whatever the fuck could happen.

By the way Connor bolted out of the car when they reached the park, Hank might have worried for nothing. By the time he got out of the car, Connor was in the middle of an android crowd, the big white mass of the bear peeking above everyone's heads. Rich and Hank looked at each other with bright smiles, laughter drifting their way.

From what he could see, all the androids there seemed built back to normal; It was such a fucking contrast with the vision of horror back in the hospital, it made Hank sigh in relief. There was no doubt in his mind none of those people were actually healed, that they would all need as much therapy as Connor. But they were safe, free, and together.

* * *

It was the first time Connor ever sat on grass, or even felt it between his fingers. He found that it tickled, and that he liked it very much. Through their interface, Alice and Connor talked about their newfound freedom and what they liked to do now, starting with their favorite cartoons; _We Bare Bears_ seemed really good, and Alice found that she'd like to watch _Adventure Time._

>[You know, I'd never met other child androids before going to New Jericho !] She told him after she finished telling him about Big Dipper. Connor thought that it was a very good name for a very good bear, and his attention drifted to the big white fluffy mass lying sleepily behind Alice. [Everyone's very nice over there, and we even met Markus and the other Leaders !] Interfaced with Big Dipper through Alice, Connor sent a little smiling emoji to the bear. He leaned back a little, focused on Sumo's calm presence at his side. [North is so funny ! But my favorite's Simon, he's very sweet !] Connor dug his fidget cube out of his pocket, made it click against his fingers.

.

>Message received from Big Dipper the Big Girl

>[ **♥** **(°●** **◡** **●)** **ლ** **(^** **㉨** **^✿** **ლ** **)** **♥** ]

.

>Message received from Sumo, Goodest Boy

> **[?** **(°●** **╭╮** **●)** **\”** **(•́** **ᴥ** **•̀** **ლ** **)** **?** **]**

**.**

>[Are you okay, Connor ?] Alice asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. She looked at him worriedly, her head tilted to the side, waiting for an answer. [You're spacing out] He tried to send her a message.

.

[WARNING !]

>Wireless communication frozen

>Message could not be sent

.

[STRESS LEVEL 60%]▲

Unable to answer, Connor shrugged, tightening his hold around Sumo. From the corner of his vision, he saw Alice lean in even more, trying to meet his eyes. He didn't want to worry her, so he looked up and smiled. She narrowed her eyes.

>[You're not fooling me, little brother] Connor pursed his lips and looked down again, unable to hold her piercing, all-knowing gaze. [Wanna play Janken Fury ?] He nodded, and the smile he gave her was smaller but genuine this time.

* * *

Hank and Richard tried to stand back and let the androids alone, but they were soon pulled in the group. They were enthusiastically told all of their newfound names, all the things they'd be doing with their freedom, and how grateful they were for the three of them to have helped free them, and...

It's not that Hank wasn't happy for them. He was fucking delighted for them. But he was old, and their energy was wearing him down. Eventually, he had to sit on a nearby bench and take a breather. He watched Connor and Sumo play with Alice and the bear they'd named Big Dipper. Hank was almost sure they were talking through signing, but it was too fast for a beginner like him to follow. Connor's and Alice's giggling was the best thing Hank had witnessed in a long time.

Sitting next to Hank, Richard was dutifully keeping watch of the park like a sentinel, sending clear reports to Connor every time the kid started to get nervous and jittery. When Luther joined them on the bench, Hank still had a stupid grin on his stupid face, and no way he'd make an effort to stop.

“I wonder what they're doing,” Richard said without looking away from his self-appointed duty.

“Playing Janken Fury. A variant of Rock paper scissors Alice came up with,” Luther explained with a smile in his voice. “There are thirty-six different moves, and we're not allowed to look at the adversary's hand before the move is thrown, so it's impossible to predict anything.” The man looked positively proud of the little girl, looking at the two kids madly throwing move after move in a flurry that made Hank's poor old eyes cry in pain. Luther's smile dimmed a bit, now more sad than happy. “Zlatko could never completely crack her program, so she was always able to do things outside of his orders. She kept asking and wanting to play, so eventually Zlatko let us indulge her so she would leave him alone.” He turned to them, a sly smile on his face this time. “That game is a bitch to play, let me tell you.” Hank couldn't help but laugh at that, and at the knowledge that even through hell, all of them, including Connor, had this little flicker of happiness.

“Even looking at their moves, it's still near impossible to predict anything,” Richard said, fascinated by the blur of limbs. They starred at the madness before them for a silent while; Two other androids had joined in, and holy crap did this game look bonkers.

“We were all a bit worried about Connor,” Luther said, looking at Hank with round, sad eyes. Hank felt his smile falter a little. “But he looks a lot better now.”

“Yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks, but he's managing somehow.” Luther turned his attention on the carefree androids enjoying their day at the park.

“You know, we're all supporting each other, and Jericho has our backs.” He paused, looked down at his hands. “I... Overheard what some in Jericho think of Connor.” Hank didn't know what to say to that. He knew, obviously, Connor's weird position among the android community. Which was why he'd stayed away from them, only interacting with Markus when he needed it for work. He knew most androids had been happy when Connor had gone missing, he knew those same androids were probably fuming that he was back and out on the streets. But right now, Hank couldn't dwell on that; It was a problem for later. “I'm glad he's got your support.”

“Yeah, thanks...” Hank sighed with a lopsided smile.

What would have happened to Connor if Chris hadn't found him that morning, after the revolution ? Hank had wondered a lot about that. But No. There was no point dwelling in What-ifs.

His therapist would be proud.

They stayed at the park for a couple of hours, until Connor's systems tired out. Hank watched him go in standby in the middle of a conversation a couple of times.

“You're already leaving ?” Alice pouted when Hank suggested they go home. Connor had the same expression, and it would have been enough to sway Hank if the kid didn't go back in standby right then; It looked a bit like he was nodding off, and Hank had to wonder if that was a programmed reaction to make them look more human, or an effect of deviancy.

They said their Good Byes, then piled up in the car for the ride home.

* * *

**[Stasis interrupted]**

>Audio processor recording: {Ah Shit ! Fuckers !'}

>Voice analysis...

>Identified : Lt Hank Anderson, Father

>STATUS: Angry

Connor opened his eyes in the back of the still-moving car, the engine's vibrations rattling his frame in that specific rhythm he liked. Hank's tone, he didn't like so much. The analysis of his surroundings revealed who those 'Fuckers' were; Dozens of journalists, in front of Hank's house.

**[STRESS LEVEL 80%]** ▲▲▲

.

**[WARNING !]**

>Stress level critically high

>Action required: Lower stress level

Why were there journalists here ? They spotted the car before Hank could finish suggesting turning around and leaving.

>Message received from Sumo, Goodest Boy

>[ **♥(** **૭•** **̀ ᴥ•́ )** **૭** **]) !** ]

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 70%]▼▼**

“It's okay, Hank,” he said. But was it ? Hank had done everything to keep the news out of the house. But Connor had the Internet in his head. He knew what the media was wondering about the 'Andronikov Case'. What they wondered about Connor. Would he have to talk to them ? Would he even be able to do that ?

Of course he wouldn't, who was he kidding.

[STRESS LEVEL 80%]▲▲

Despite Sumo's support, Connor couldn't calm down. His systems froze as Hank finished parking the car, a string of curses under his breath. He couldn't answer Richard when he asked if he was alright, which in itself told his brother everything he needed to know.

>Message received from Richard, Brother

>[You're safe. The three of us will keep you safe]

.

**[CPU OVERDRIVE]...**

>CPU at 96% Capacity

.

>Optical units recording: {Hank Anderson and Richard Anderson are getting out of their car}

>Unable to run Threat Analysis

.

>Audio processor recording: {'Hank Anderson ? Can we ask a few questions ?'}

>Voice analysis...

>Identified : Ashley Schneider, Journalist

>Processing... Unable to process

.

>Audio processor recording: {'Does Connor Anderson have a few minutes to spare us ?'}

>Voice analysis...

>Identified : Myles Hickman, Journalist

>Processing... Unable to process

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 85%]▲**

.

>Audio processor recording: {'How does he live with what he's done ?'}

>Voice analysis...

>Identified : Daniel Mcintyre, Journalist

>Processing... Unable to process

.

**[STRESS LEVEL 95%]▲▲**

**[WARNING !]**

>Stress level critically high

>Action required: Lower stress level immediately

.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

> **[♥(** **૭** •́ **ᴥ** •̀ **)** **૭** **]) ♥]**

**.**

>Optical units recording: {Hank Anderson is opening Unit's door}

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Proximity sensor Alert !]**

**.**

>Audio processor recording: {'Connor ? Can you come out of the car ?'}

>Processing... Unable to process

.

>Optical units recording: {Hank Anderson is staring at Unit}

>STATUS: Worried, Upset, Angry, Sad

>Processing... Unable to process

.

>Audio processor recording: {'Sorry, son... Come out of the car and follow me'}

.

**[Outstanding Order: Obey Lt Henry Anderson]**

**[Get out of the car and follow him]**

>Action required: Get out of the car

>Mobilizing memory cache

.

>Gyroscope recalibrating... Unit standing up

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Proximity sensor Alert !]**

.

>Audio processor recording: {'Don't listen to them or look at them. Just follow me'}

.

**[Outstanding Order: Obey Lt Henry Anderson]**

**[Follow him]**

**[Don't Listen or look at journalists]**

>Action required: Follow Hank...

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[Proximity sensor Alert !]**

The only thing keeping Hank from tearing a new one to all those vultures was Connor's blank look and the robotic way he followed him. Sumo at his side and Richard closing their procession kept the journalists at bay.

When they were finally inside, Sumo led Connor to the couch and forced him to sit. He proceeded to splay his full weight and body on his lap.

Hank shared a resigned look with Richard. They both hoped the whole thing would blow over sooner rather than later, but they knew they'd probably have to go through with it.

Connor was nowhere near ready though.


	9. Do I have to spell it out ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gawd, this chapter gave me so much trouble, but it finally let itself be written ! Hope you enjoy :)

Richard was connected to the precinct before Hank could finish drawing all the curtains shut.

“This is Detective Richard Anderson, badge number 900-87, requesting a protective detail at Anderson residence...” Hank tuned out the rest of Richard's call; He had a scared kid to attend to. And Hank knew what to do with scared kids. He looked for the blue dog plush toy Rich had bought a couple of days ago for Connor. It was the softest fucking thing Hank had ever felt in his life, and the way the kid had latched onto it like a mussel on its rock was the cutest shit. When he finally located it, he went to kneel at Connor's side.

“Son ?” He called softly. The only answer was Sumo's low whining, his big eyes looking sadly over to him. “I got your friend Cobolt there.” Okay, Hank knew the android wasn't actually a kid, that he was supposed to be a full-blown adult. But according to whom ? To CyberLife's scientists ? There was no study on deviant psychology, so it was anyone's guess how sentient androids actually aged, right ? And well, right now, for Hank, Connor acted more like a small kid than any kind of adult.

Slowly, Hank deposited the doll on top of Connor's hand. Hank stayed there for a few seconds, but the kid didn't react. He got up, his old knees screaming their disapproval, patted Sumo for his good work, and joined Richard in the kitchen.

When he checked on Connor a few minutes later, Cobolt had disappeared somewhere under Sumo's mass.

“How are you, Connor ?” Doctor Li asked when they'd all taken their usual seats. Connor, for his part, had been balled-up on the floor for most of the day, hidden under Sumo, staring at the TV. It had been a full week since Connor had gone non-verbal, but the journalists' remarks from the day before seemed to have struck him hard. The doctor gave him a full minute before she spoke again. “I heard you went to the park.” The kid didn't give any sign he'd heard her, didn't give a sign he'd take his fingers out of his mouth to speak in any way, or take his attention away from his cartoon. Hank pursed his lips and crossed his arms, ready to suggest they postpone that day's session, when Richard spoke up.

“Connor says 'Yeah'.” Aw, hell. Connor hadn't needed to talk through Richard for almost two weeks now. The doc added a note on her tablet.

“Did you have fun ?”

“Yeah,” Richard relayed, but his red LED and concerned expression said otherwise. Doctor Li looked over toward Connor's general position; From where she was, she could only see Sumo's mass of fur. A thoughtful frown painted her face. She sat forward in her chair, her hands joining in front of her, and changed course.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about what happened with the journalists ?” Through their interface, Richard received a new wave of memory files from Connor, crisp from the previous day, and a particular audio file was singled out, the stress associated with it telling Richard this was what put Connor in that state;

_> {'How does he live with what he's done ?'}_

_**[STRESS LEVEL 95%]▲▲** _

_**[WARNING !]** _

_> Stress level critically high_

_> Action required: Lower stress level immediately_

.

**[Level of Stress: 70%]** **▲▲▲**

**[⚠ High Stress Levels detected ⚠]**

**[Overseer Program Override]**

>Overriding high stress Levels...

**.**

**[Level of Stress: 15%]▼▼▼**

Despite his stress Overseer program, Richard needed a second to absorb everything; Emotional Data files were the heaviest, and for his basic military social suit, were difficult to decode and process. But of course, he knew why that question had distressed his brother so much; He'd been struggling with his guilt even before Andronikov.

The doctor waited in silence, waited for anything Connor might want to say. Eventually though, Richard shook his head to let her know there was no answer.

“I know you knew what the media were saying about this case... About you. I don't think it's meeting them that troubles you so much. I suspect there is something else going on.” Yes, there was more. But right now, Richard was just a messenger, and he couldn't share the memories he'd just received; They'd probably been sent through their link by mistake. “Connor, I won't ask you to say anything today, but I have to ask that you listen to what I have to tell you.” She waited for some form of answer. Richard received Connor's coiling tension through their link, and then a timid [Okay] for the Doctor. “I received Sumo's diagnostics yesterday evening, and the fact he had to force you into emergency stasis to prevent self-destruction.” What ? That had happened ? He turned to Hank, and from the look on his face, Richard concluded he hadn't noticed either. How were they not aware ? How had they missed it ? “I'm not sure leaving you today without knowing what caused your current state would be wise.”

Other memory files came through.

A blend of dozens of similar memories, the precise choreography of an android kidnapping, the procedure fine-tuned over two and half years, down to the second, down to the gesture. The only thing changing is the android's face, clothes, build. An ST300, an AX400, a PJ500... They all morph into each other, they all end up in pieces in the Owner's lab, they all become _fun experiments_ and _works of arts, don't you think ? Of course you don't_...

An old and murky one, a bit corrupted but visceral and choke-full of Emotional Data;

_**[SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲]** _

_> {'For fuck's sake, I told you not to move ! Why do you never do What I say ?'}_

_> {'I was connected to its memory... When it fired... I felt it die... Like I was dying. I was scared'}_

Richard turned wordless toward Hank; He'd seen him in that flash like he'd never seen him before. Anger and frustration, Connor's social program had tagged his outburst. Richard wanted to know more. His detective program demanded to know more, to put pieces together, to solve a mystery. But he couldn't ask. He had to be patient, he had to respect that Connor wasn't ready to share more, to share at all. Hank, for his part, furrowed his eyebrows in concern, silently asking about his red, spinning LED.

But he can't say, can't explain, can't ask, because the memories keep coming, become older and older, more and more corrupted. But the details, the emotions attached are always vivid and terrible.

Richard recognised CyberLife's tower before it became New Jericho. Military training, android corpses drowning in a sea of thirium at Connor's feet turn into blood-soaked foreign soldiers on a real battlefield, somewhere in the deserts of the Middle East.

**[Overseer Program Override]**

>High Stress level fluctuation detected

>Stabilizing Level of Stress

**.**

**[Level of Stress: 15%]▼▼▼**

Stress-tests, Connor drags its broken body away from a pile of broken drones and onto the jaws of a maintenance platform, an experiment table, an assembly line where its limbs are torn from his despondent body to test the speed at which its systems mend thirium lines.

**[Overseer Program Override]**

**.**

**[Level of Stress: 15%]**

Deaths, so many deaths, processors slowly, inexorably freezing in small experiment rooms, -150°c, Connor's ability to remain impassive turning off with the rest of its functions; It already can't do anything to protest anymore, can't do anything to try and save itself, isn't allowed to. -200°c, Its functions finally, mercifully shut down, and it comes back online screaming, struggling. It injures some labcoat guy, gets shut down, reboots paralyzed. It still wants to scream, and so it does, in the relative privacy of its own mind.

There's a pack of military android dogs, and they're tearing it apart, one plate after the other. It destroys some of them, thirium explodes in its eyes, and it can only feel its vital bio-components getting torn from its frame.

It looks at itself in a full-length mirror, but it's not 'Itself'. There's no 'Itself', and apparently, it has to learn it, because it is guilty of thinking it _is._ But it's not. So it's ordered to destroy itself as slowly as possible. It is nothing but a replaceable machine, it has to learn what it is and what it's not...

**[Overseer Program Override]**

**.**

**[Level of Stress: 15%]**

Richard's social suit scrambled to process everything, the incomprehension, the terror, the crumbling trust, the resignation, the acceptance. And _the pain._

It took Richard all his processing power to take in the whole file, and he barely noticed Connor started to speak, his wavering voice muffled under Sumo's fur.

* * *

“It's all my fault. I did horrible things, and I- I think I've been hiding from it.” Connor paused, and everyone else held their breath. “One of the journalists said... He asked how I- How I lived with what I'd done.” Hank wanted to say something, to take his son in his arms, hold him tight and never let go. He did none of it. He stared at the trembling pile of android splayed on Richard's feet.

“Tell me one thing, Connor,” Doctor Li said. “Did you want to do any of it ?”

“I didn't want anything,” came the answer, frantic and desperate.

“Could you have refused to do any of it ?”

“... No.”

“So you didn't want any of it, and you had no choice but to obey. How was it your fault ?”

“I did it,” Connor's whisper sounded unsure, almost like a question, and Hank could hear the doubt creeping in. “I killed them all, I had their blood all over me, you can't tell me I didn't do it.”

“I'm not arguing that you did it. But if someone shoots a weapon, will you blame the weapon, or will you blame the shooter ?” Hank could have almost snorted at that old, old rhetoric. He was sent back in his thirties, when gun laws were still discussed by stupid people that wanted to keep their stupid guns. But well, in that case, the weapon in question was a sentient being, and the holders were all assholes that deserved to rot in hell.

“But other weapons don't have AIs.” And, well, that couldn't be argued, right ?

“And from what you've told me, you had as much freedom of choice as a revolver in all those situations.” There was the tiniest of snorts coming from under Sumo.

“I'm not a revolver,” Connor snickered. Whether it was from nerves or from actual amusement, to Hank it sounded like a choral of angels descending from the heavens with a never-ending serving of chicken-feed in each hand.

“You're right,” the doctor conceded with a soft smile. “Let me put it another way. The androids that were made for sex work filed a class action for the recognition of their status as victims of rape. Would you tell them it was their fault because they were made for sex work ?” Christ. Hank had heard of that case, mainly from Felix and his companions. It was true that for all the leaps and bounds of android rights, people had been quick to forget all the shit they'd done to them.

“No, but it's not- It's not the same thing...” Hank almost opened his mouth. Almost spouted 'Bullshit', almost scoffed and grunted. Almost.

“And what are your arguments for this affirmation ?” The Doc asked, always patient, always understanding. Hank saw in her eyes that she wanted to scream Bullshit as well. She was better than that. They waited for Connor's arguments. When they didn't come, the Doc doubled down. “Did they want to do any of it ?”

“...No.”

“Could they have refused to do any of it ?”

“...No.”

“Do you see where I'm going with this, or do you want me to say it more clearly ?” Connor hummed but didn't say anything. “Alright, just for the sake of being on the same page; You're as much a victim of what you've been forced to do as they are. Do you understand ?” Another soft hum, a bit staticky this time. “All the people that matter to you know this. Do you think the unfounded opinion of a stranger invalidates those facts ?”

“That's not true,” Connor whispered, his tone a bit frantic. “The androids don't know this.” The doctor squinted imperceptibly, pursed her lips.

“You're right. They should be the first to understand you were as much a slave to your program as they all were, and you shouldn't have to explain yourself to them.” There was a pause. “But well, knuckle-heads unfortunately plague every community equally.” That made Connor chuckle, and Hank darkly think 'Amen to that'. “Maybe it has to be spelled out to them, the same way I had to spell out to you that you are, in fact, a victim.”

“I- I can't. They're scared of me, they won't listen.”

“Then tell the world, they want to hear what you have to say.”


	10. Stepping stone

Was Doctor Li suggesting he talk to the press ?

**[STRESS LEVEL 70%]** _**▲▲▲** _

He couldn't go to the journalists just like that. He couldn't go to the journalists at all, he could barely talk to his own family members, let alone to complete strangers that would ask _questions._ What would he do if he suddenly froze in front of them ? Or if he dissociated ? And anyway, he couldn't talk to the press, the Andronikov's case was still ongoing.

“Wh- Wh-” He tried to ask her whatever the hell she was actually suggesting, but his voice-modulator program was stuck in a loop.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [♥(°ᴗ ◡ᴗ)”\\(●ᴥ●ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 45%]** _**▼▼▼** _

Connor burrowed himself deeper under Sumo. His weight pressing on him and the softness of his fur helped Connor focus his sensors, and hidden from everyone like that, he felt safe; If no one inside could see him, then no one outside could either.

“Of course I'm not suggesting you do that right away,” she said as if she could read his thoughts.

**[STRESS LEVEL 40%]** **▼**

“But it could be a mid-term goal, an objective for you to strive toward.” She'd talked about goals before. Usually, they were about managing a panic attack on his own, or identify his emotions. This... This was something else. “There are steps we can take to reach this goal, but first, there is something else I need to talk to you about.”

When Doctor Li said this, it was always one of two things; to tell him what CyberLife had taught him was wrong, or ask questions she thought were difficult to ask.

“Telling you you shouldn't feel guilty for what you've been made to do is one thing, and it's a perfectly normal response for you not to believe it, or understand it, or realise it.” So it was the first thing this time.

Connor wasn't even surprised the Doctor knew that. She seemed to know everything that was going on in his mind, and it felt reassuring; Even if his own mind didn't make sense to him, she always knew how to help, and what was going on.

**[STRESS LEVEL 30%]** **▼▼**

“Do you know what a support group is ?” He didn't know, so he did a quick research; As the name suggested, a support group involved a small circle of people with some experience in common, reuniting and talking about it to each other. He wasn't sure what this had to do with anything, but there were a lot of things he didn't know.

“Yes,” He said to let the Doctor know she could explain what she had in mind.

“There are a lot of android support groups that have been established over the years. One of them is for pre-revolution veteran military androids.” Connor didn't do a research, because he knew the Doctor would explain everything. The name of that group was pretty self-explanatory, and Connor thought it was a great thing androids could support each other now. But he still had no idea why she was talking about it to him. “Would you like me to tell you more about it ?”

He wasn't sure he had an opinion about this matter. But he had very few opinions about very few things, and her question, his social program suite supplied him, was more likely a polite way to let him know he should listen to what she had to explain.

“If you will,” he answered politely. The Doctor didn't talk right away.

“Those military androids reunite to talk about their time as machines in the army. Among other things, they talk about feeling guilty because of what they've been forced to do on the battlefields.” She paused, and it was that 'I'll let that sink in' particular sort of pause. “Do you understand now why I'm talking to you about it ?”

**[STRESS LEVEL 25%]** **▼**

“I'm... Not the only one feeling guilty ?”

“That's absolutely right. It's not the only reason. Can you think of any other ?” He hated that his detective program couldn't come up with an answer. He should probably know, he should be able to extrapolate a theory with the data he was provided. He was literally made for this. But his mind was blank. Nothing came up. He was failing. Failure meant-

**[STRESS LEVEL 55%]** **▲▲▲**

Connor was supposed to try and calm down without Sumo's help if his stress level didn't go above 60%. He had to rationalize, he knew that. He was allowed to fail. Nothing would happen to him. He just had to ignore the blaring warning on his HUD.

“No,” he whispered, his voice pathetically trembling with what he now identified as anxiety.

“That's alright. Knowing there are people that feel like you is good, but I think it would be even better for you to meet them. You wouldn't have to talk, you can simply listen to their stories.”

* * *

“But they're androids. They'll hate me,” Connor said as if it was obvious, a matter of fact, and Hank wanted to scream until his throat was raw. Had the kid always accepted this as a fact like this ? And if so, how had Hank never noticed ? From the corner of his vision, he caught the way Richard's fists clenched tighter on his lap.

“Well, actually, I've already reached out to the person in charge, and they assured me you'd be more than welcome to join them.” doctor Li had a way of countering each and every one of Connor's negative thoughts; It was like watching a tennis match between a toddler and the legendary Serena Williams.

“But what if- I dissociate, or- Or-”

“You can go with Richard,” she parried effortlessly. “Also, you wouldn't be the first, nor would you be the last to have any sort of episode.”

“And... Sumo ?” Oh, that was Hank's turn.

“Oh, I received the papers, he's officially certified as of yesterday,” he announced. “No one can take him away from you, wherever you go.” Sumo's tail wagged happily as two arms emerged from under him to hug him tight.

“And half of those veteran androids have their own support animal, I'd be surprised if Sumo was the only dog there.” There was a pause, but everyone in the room already knew Connor's answer.

“I- I guess I could go...” Hank couldn't help but smile and when he turned to Richard, he had the same expression.

* * *

Richard stood next to Connor in the hall of the community center. Sumo stood on his other side, and Hank had gone to wait at the café across the road. They'd come early, so Connor could get his bearings and meet the person in charge. The android, one of the first soldier model, was missing one of her blue eyes, and half of her face was charred beyond what her synthetic skin could cover.

“Hi,” she greeted, extending a hand to shake theirs. “My name's Theseus. It's nice to meet you,” she said while shaking Connor's hand. She was trying to look him in the eyes, and he was actively avoiding hers. The half of her face that was still mobile turned thoughtful, analyzing, gathering data as if with that greeting and Connor's reaction, she gauged him and the extend of his troubles.

This was impressive, and Richard almost felt jealous that she could do that as a military android. Then he remembered her model had come out before the development of the restricted military social modules; Apparently, android soldiers were too easily 'malfunctioning' with regular social modules. Of course, now they knew it weren't malfunctions, they were going deviant before any other android. And then Richard realised Connor had probably been the guinea pig for those military modules, and his hatred for CyberLife flared once more.

“Counting you, there'll be ten of us today. The sessions last an hour, but if you need to leave at any time, for any reason, there'll be no judgment. We've all been there.”

After the revolution, the very few military androids that hadn't been destroyed were... 'set free', the government had called it back then. The truth of it was, they were abandoned and left to their own devices like every other android, with no guidance, and no help with their new-found deviancy and fresh traumas.

Richard felt a bit out of place; Sure, he was a military android, but he'd always been a deviant, and he'd never served. He'd always been respected and loved by his family, and so what right did he have to be here, to listen to those androids' private stories ? Well, he was there for his brother, and Theseus didn't seem to mind that he was there. After she finished explaining how the sessions proceeded, she led them to the meeting room.

The room was small and clean, twelve chairs were facing each other in a circle in the middle of the room, and one of them was occupied by a giant android. His back was turned to them, which was probably the only reason Connor didn't completely freeze. As it were, he side-stepped imperceptibly, ending up halfway hidden behind Richard. The man turned around on his chair at their approach, a soft smile in his eyes.

“Hey, hi, newcomers,” he greeted amicably, offering his hand to Richard. His lower jaw was dented out of shape, looking as if it was missing completely. If he was human, he wouldn't have been able to talk, or even eat. “The name's Mandel.” After Richard presented himself, Mandel turned his attention to Connor, absorbed in his coin tricks.

* * *

Connor listened intently to the clinking of his coin against his fingers. He'd miss that noise when he'd receive his new plates; The facility's R&D had called a few days ago; They were almost finished making his new blueprints, with the help of Doctor Kamski and Richard's guidance. He and Connor didn't have the exact same platings, but most of it was easily adaptable, and the rest, they could reverse engineer from the full-body scanners they'd made when Connor was hospitalised. When the blueprints were done, it would take only a few hours to 3D print everything, and then a technician could come to their house and fit Connor with it.

He'd miss that noise.

“Good to meet you, boy,” said the Myrmidon with his hand offered to Connor.

[Myrmidon, designation: Mandel Stuart]

Stress level: 9%

Status: Calm, Curious

>Battered lower jaw, failing synthetic skin program, missing right leg...

>Interrupt automatic scan...

.

>Automatic scan interrupted

Connor lowered his gaze. He hated his automatic scanning program. Everyone had told him again and again that it was an invasion of privacy, and why couldn't he just not do it, and _honestly, what the phck, plastic prick ? Why don't you scan my balls while you're at it ?_ Detective Reed had not appreciated when Connor obeyed his strange request.

But right now, at this moment, he just had to shake Mandel Stuart's hand. Then he would sit down, listen to the soldiers' stories, and go home. He could do this. He took Mandel's hand in his own.

“Hello, my name is Connor, I was sent here by Doctor Li.”


	11. Veteran

Connor waited quietly, only taking his attention off Sumo and his coin when the first dog made his entrance; A young German shepherd that had Connor smiling like a doofus. It wasn't long until everyone arrived and the reunion started.

* * *

“We've got new faces today,” Theseus started.

**[STRESS LEVEL 60%]** **▲▲▲-**

**.**

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [♥(°●◡●) ლ(●ᴥ●ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

Sumo's presence kept his stress level capped at 60%. Connor ran his hands along the top of his big head, focused on the weight of his snout on his lap, let his soothing waves of codes and messages envelope him like a balm.

“Do you want to present yourselves ?” Theseus' question made Connor freeze. That wasn't the deal. He'd listen to their stories, but he didn't have to talk, that was the deal. Everyone knew who he was anyway. They all knew what he'd done, both under CyberLife and Andronikov; The news had made sure everyone knew all the things he'd done.

“Maybe next time,” Richard replied amiably.

“Alright, there's no rush.” It's only when Theseus asked someone else to speak that Connor's processors finally unfroze.

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [♥ლ(^ᴥ^ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

**.**

**[STRESS LEVEL 40%] ▼▼**

The first two androids spoke about their week. It had been a good one for both. The SQ800, whose android pet rat was snuggled against his neck, had chosen to volunteer at a homeless shelter.

“I know I shouldn't compare or anything, but I was thinking, you know; Like, if given the choice, my first idea is to help people, it kind of proves I'm a good person, right ?”

“You already knew you were a good person, Jason, you don't have to prove anything,” Theseus scolded, her one eye boring into the man in front of her.

“I know, I know,” Jason placated, a smile stretching on his face, a hand scratching nervously at the back of his head. “It's just somethin' that came to me, but I know it's like, negative thinking.”

The androids kept talking about their week, how Teleas had an 'incident' but was able to reframe their unwarranted feeling of guilt, how Achilles' and his companion's bakery was well on its way toward opening day. Overall, these were good people, and Connor wasn't sure what he was doing here, what he could have in common with them, what Doctor Li wanted him to learn from this.

Until Mandel cleared his throat.

“Ya know... Huh, I don't know if... Is it alright if I- It's about the news and, y'know, the new kid...”

**[STRESS LEVEL 60%]** **▲▲-**

**.**

>Message received from Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

 **> [♥(°●◡●) ლ(●ᴥ●ლ)** **づ♥** **]**

He'd known. Why was he surprised ? He'd known they'd realise, eventually, that he shouldn't be there, that he shouldn't be among them. It wasn't immediately that Connor realised Mandel was asking him for permission to speak. He crossed Mandel's gaze for a brief second and a jolt of current went up his spine as the android's status and stress levels appeared on his HUD, before he looked away and dismissed it. He wasn't particularly thrilled to hear his own impending dismissal, but it would happen anyway, so the sooner the better, right ? Connor shrugged because speaking wasn't in the deal.

“Right... I can guess why you've been sent here, to us. I mean, the exact reason, you know. We don't have fancy scanners or social programs like you, or even like other androids for that matter. But boy, do I know that look of yours. All of us here had the exact same look when we started this group, y'know ?”

Connor wasn't sure where Mandel was going with this. His earlier predictions seemed less and less likely, but no other theory came up to Connor's prediction program. He waited for more, politely directing an ear to the android, to let him know he was listening.

“So, first I need to make sure you know you belong here.” What ? “I need you to know you're not guilty of anything you've been made to do, okay ?” What ? “I need you to know that we've all been there, and we understand that you feel guilty, but it's not true.”

“Yeah,” Titan, another Myrmidon with no synthetic skin on her face continued. “Each of us here was ordered to do terrible things. Each of us has obeyed those terrible orders, and none of us, including you, is guilty of any of it.”

“It don't mean your feeling of guilt ain't real,” Achilles added. “But it don't make it true.”

* * *

The reunion ended soon after, on the androids reciting their motto in unison.

“It wasn't my fault. I'm not guilty of my programming or the orders I was given.”

Connor said nothing about the reunion, not that day, not the next day, not the following week. It was like it had never happened, and Doctor Li told Hank and Richard they had to give him some time to process.

“I'd like to evoke another subject to give you time to think about it, even though you're not ready right now.” Connor stiffened, and Hank crossed his arms, a frown obscuring his expression; He and Richard knew what was coming. They hoped it would go well. “The Andronikov case is moving forward with his victims' statements. There are a lot of them, so there's time to see it coming, but I think it would be another good step toward your healing process, and even help you achieve your mid-term goal.” She didn't add anything; Right then, she was just putting the idea out there. Connor didn't show any reaction about it.

Then Doctor Li suggested they go to the next session, and Connor didn't seem to be against it, so he might not have disliked it as much as they thought after all.

“Our orders were to eliminate everyone in the room,” Aeneas said with a somber tone. The Trojan was looking at her hands, wringing them harshly, her skin projection failing under the assault. “There were no hostiles in there, not even weapons; Just old women hiding little kids under their clothes. But we had our orders. We didn't question it. We eliminated everyone in the room.” Aeneas went quiet for a while, and no one spoke; She wasn't done. “Every time I go idle, the memory file plays out and I can't interrupt it. It's like I'm there all over again.” Her dog, the German Shepherd, whined to get her attention, and she started petting it absently. “I was a good little android, a good little soldier. I only deviated when they were destroying us. When I was in danger.” There was a pause.

“You wanted to survive,” Theseus concluded.

“I was a coward,” Aeneas replied forcefully, “I kill dozens, and I 'm scared to be killed ? What the hell ?”

“That's not how deviancy works,” Connor whispered. Silence met his words. Aenea turned her attention on him, and Richard noted the way everyone else pointedly didn't. But Connor had his eyes riveted on his fidget cube, so he might not have noticed their fair attempt to help. “There needs to be a strong emotional shock.”

“What, killing kids isn't a strong emotional shock ?” Connor's LED spun red for a few seconds, before turning yellow again. A small, pained smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Not for you; You're a Trojan. Your social module has been specifically made so killing kids wouldn't be enough to make you deviate.”

“... Huh. How the fuck did they think of that ?” That was a rhetorical question, Richard was pretty sure.

“They tested it during development.”

“You...” Said Virgil, a quiet one who had opted for bright blue hair. “You say as if you know, but military development is top secret. Even we don't know what happened during military development...” The way he'd said that, Virgil didn't sound very sure, as if he knew that Connor knew more, and wanted to hear it.

Connor's status as an illegal prototype had made the news a few weeks back, and a lot of self-appointed detectives had taken upon themselves to 'unearth the truth about the RK800's development'. Very little had been unearthed; CyberLife had been very thorough with their covering up and destruction of any proof of Connor's existence. And if Richard knew all that, Connor probably did too.

“I...” He started, eyes and hands firmly set on Sumo. “There was a new line of child androids in development. I don't know exactly why it was scrapped, I think there were some behavioral issues, or maybe they did a market study and they thought they'd lose money over it.”

When Connor paused to scrub at Sumo's ears, and probably to let his stress level go down before going on, the silence in the room was complete, just like when the others had been telling their stories. 'There's no rush,' the silence was saying. Despite everyone's growing suspicion that they knew where this was going, there was no judgment, no disgust on anyone's traits.

“New personality matrices are always tested on ten prototypes, to test for bugs, to be sure a problem comes from the program and not the android itself, or vice versa. They had to get rid of those, but humans become strange around kids, even android kids.” Connor's LED turned red again, his petting halted. He'd frozen, and Sumo looked over to Richard for help. Slowly, he approached Connor's forearm, skin retracted, and slowly, so slowly, initiated an interface.

>Message sent

>[You're safe. I'm here. Sumo's here]

He left the interface open but didn't try to go further into it, instead let Connor come around. Eventually, he wrapped his other hand on top of Richard's.

>Message received from Big Bro Connor

>[Stay ?]

.

>Message sent to Big Bro Connor

>[Of course]

“I deviated a few times, but for the same reason it's impossible to study the phenomenon of déjà-vu, it was never in the right conditions to study properly; It was always a random thing, one too many kill, or one too many test. They needed direct and live access to my processors, right when the deviancy happened, to be able to stem it. They tried a few things, but it's after I destroyed a few children that I finally deviated again.” Connor stared at Richard's hand under his own, but it was clear he was replaying a memory file, eyes unseeing and lost in the vague. “They didn't find anything about the cause of deviancy, but they did find that restricting the empathy simulation module worked well enough to prevent it.” For the first time, Connor raised his head and locked eyes with Aeneas. “I apologise, it's my fault they could develop the military social modules.”

“Hey,” Aeneas said before the silence could grow, before Connor could lower his head again, “None of it was your fault,” she asserted, her voice firm, leaving no place for doubt. “Scan me for a lie,” she added, and waited for Connor to lock eyes with her again. “None of it was your fault.”

There was a long pause after that, both to let Connor process and calm down, and for the heavy moment to pass.

The session ended on reciting their motto, and from the corner of his eye, Richard saw Connor's lips repeat the words silently. He let a smile bloom on his face, and pride filled his chest with warmth.

After that second reunion, Connor finally talked about it to Doctor Li. He still wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't guilty of anything, but the Doctor assured him it was completely normal.

“You can't change the way you feel about yourself in a couple of weeks. It will take time, but the fact you're willing to listen and learn to root out those negative thoughts is a big step forward.” A flustered little smile graced Connor's traits at the compliment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is the second to last chapter before the epilogue. I'll need to take some time to get a head start for the next part, and some side project that might or might not have something to do with this story, depending on if I'm satisfied with it, and if people think it's a good idea. 
> 
> I hope next chapter will live to my own expectations :D


	12. Entropy and other forms of 'hasardous' happenings

During the next couple of weeks, they talked about the statement Connor would have to make at the precinct and how he came to feel ready to do it; After all, the police station was a familiar place, their colleagues familiar faces, and so it didn't feel too insurmountable for Connor. His biggest fears were to freeze at the sight of other policemen, or not be able to speak once there.

“What are the risks if these situations happen ?” The Doctor had simply asked. “You'll just try again another time,” she answered when Connor didn't know how to. “There's no harm in failing. There's no harm in trying again.”

And so that's how they found themselves sitting in the car in the precinct's parking lot, waiting for Connor to unfreeze. Outside, the clamor of journalists gathered around the entrance of the building. Wasn't it weird for them to know they were there ? The thought quickly faded from Hank's mind.

* * *

**[ ~~Don't get seen by the police~~ ] **

He'd known ! He'd told the Doctor, he'd told Hank and Richard, he'd even told Sumo. Every preconstruction of his led to the same conclusion; He couldn't do it. He'd fail, and he was right. Hank and Richard were one thing, but the mere sight of the two officers near the entrance had his processors freeze.

From very far away, his systems registered Sumo's encouraging messages, Richard's soft interface supporting him silently. He couldn't even tell them he needed to leave. He could hear Hank's words, but his systems couldn't register them.

* * *

While he watched his son hiding into Sumo's fur, Hank's first instinct was to go home right then and there. But they had to give him time; Time for him to process difficult situations, time for his stress level to climb down, time for him to think. So they waited patiently, Hank talking about nothing in particular, last night's game, the weather, Kara and company's latest news.

It took a little under ten minutes for Connor to come around. His LED was still spinning red, and his face barely emerged from Sumo's collar, but he was back with them.

“Hey, son,” Hank greeted him softly. He waited for Connor to settle a bit more, for his LED to go back to solid yellow before saying anything else. “Wanna go home ?” The kid, still lying on Sumo, still clinging to him like a leech scared of eviction, opened his mouth. Nothing came out, which wasn't surprising. But then his sad frown turned into a frustrated pout, which eventually turned to determination. It was another several more minutes before he spoke.

“No...” He said, his voice small and staticky. “No, I- I can do it.”

* * *

He said that, but when he climbed out of the car, Sumo in tow, he finally registered the clamor of the journalists. Hank and Richard were waiting for him to move, their expression telling him 'Take all the time you need' and 'There's no rush'. He was glad for this.

There were twenty meters or so between them and the entrance of the precinct. The journalists were massed there, but he could see a few officers keeping them in check, forming an empty corridor of safety for them to take. He could do this. He simply had to put one foot in front of the other, ignore the screaming journalists for now; Talking to them wasn't his goal today. He started walking. Hank opened the way, and Richard covered his back. Today, he just had to talk to Officer Wilson and Officer Felix about his time with Andronikov. He liked Officer Wilson, and Officer Wilson liked him back.

They weren't too far now, and a few journalists noticed him already. He didn't really know officer Felix other than their brief meeting nearly two months back. He'd seemed impartial about Connor, so it would certainly be okay.

They're close enough now, that if he focused on singling out the journalists' voices, his automatic voice recognition program would kick in. But he had an objective.

**[Don't Listen or look at journalists]**

He ignored the flashing lights, all his focus directed on the glass doors less than ten meters away now. He ignored the compact mass of journalists struggling like fish caught in a net, focused on Hank's back opening the way. He ignored the way the compact mass seemed to close in on him, instead focused on Sumo's weight against his right side. He ignored their screaming, their questions, the camera shutters, and searched for Richard's almost silent footsteps, for which he had to strain his audio processors to pick up.

They were almost there now. The doors were kept open by Officer Wilson and Officer Felix, waiting for them with crossed arms and proud smiles. Their expressions changed just as Hank stopped in his tracks, a short five meters away from the doors. The Officers' confusion made way, in quick succession, to suspicion and then anger. Connor didn't know why they reached for their gun. Connor didn't react when Hank was pushed to the side and stumbled to the ground, or when a gun was pointed at him.

>Scanning...

.

**[MS853 Black Hawk]**

>8.5 inches , .355 ammunition, 9x19mm Parabellum , 17 rounds

.

>Facial recognition analysis...

>Identified: [Joziah Faulkner, 32, unemployed]

status: Agitated, angry, confused

>Blown pupils, erratic twitching, skin sores

>Assessment: High on Red Ice

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[CPU OVERDRIVE]**

>Joziah Faulkner is about to fire

 **>** Unable to disarm Joziah Faulkner in time

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[DANGER ! PROTECT VITAL BIOCOMPONENTS !]**

**.**

** > ** calculating current trajectory... Ammunition: 0.355 inch, velocity: 365 m/s, energy: 496 Joule, bullet weight: 115 grain, power factor: 414k

>…

> Point of impact; Optical unit plate #9001L

>100% probability of immediate destruction

.

>Action required: Calculating...

>Unable to dodge: 99% Probability of damage to RK900 Richard if the bullet is dodged

>...

.

>Action required: Deviate shot trajectory

.

**[WARNING !]**

**.**

>Can not deviate sideways: 95% probability of hitting an innocent bystander

>Can not deviate upward: Unable to calculate danger percentage of lost bullet

>...

>Action required: Deviate shot trajectory downward

>Calculating... 96% probability of fatal injury to Unit

Connor set in motion, his movements calculated to the millimeter, to the millisecond; His right hand knocked the gun down, the metallic clank drowned by the deafening blast of the bullet being fired. But the maneuver was successful.

**[WARNING !]**

>Critical System damages detected to: Cervical Vertebrae #402C #403C #404C, Primary nerve bundle #9N1B, Primary Thirium line #210T, Tertiary Thirium line #230T, Voice modulator #6248

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -** 00:00:46 **]**

**.**

>Thirium levels... 75% ▼▼

>Action required: Divert Primary Thirium line, divert tertiary Thirium line...

.

>Thirium levels... 72%

.

**[System stabilised. Seek out a technician immediately]**

**.**

>Lost connection to: Leg component #6847L #6847R, Arm component #5941R, Primary Gyroscope #8698A, Secondary Gyroscope #8699B

**.**

**[WARNING !]**

>Damages are preventing unit from going back to base

>Safety Countermeasure action required: **[INITIATE MEMORY UPLOAD]...**

**.**

**[INITIATING MEMORY UPLOAD... 10%]**

**.**

**[PROXIMITY SENSOR ALERT !]**

**[WARNING !]**

>Unit is lying on the ground

* * *

Hank was pretty sure he'd hit his head in the fall. Hank also knew the ringing came from the gunshot. He watched useless as Connor's blood spurted like a geyser. He watched motionless as Connor fell to the ground. He watched Richard's expression turn blank, noticed he was covered in his brother's blood. He watched himself trying to get up, and failing. He watched himself crawl his way to his son, unmoving, just a meter from him.

“Connor ?”

* * *

**[Level of Stress: 95%]** ▲▲▲

[⚠ Critically High Stress Levels detected ⚠]

[Overseer Program Override]

>Overriding Critically high stress Levels...

.

[Level of Stress: 15%]▼▼▼

Strange. He should be doing something. Anything. He had no idea what. His mind was blank, his body didn't respond. His social program tried, fruitlessly, to process the situation, process Sumo's howling. Intense pain , his program provided, the way the dog threw himself across Connor's motionless form, the way he licked at his brother. Desperation , his program provided.

His audio processors picked up the screaming all around him, the chaos of people running away colliding with the ones that wanted the footage.

He watched Officer Blake disarm the man that shot his brother, throw him to the ground, cuff him. He watched blankly the man that shot his brother struggle against the hold, watched Officer Blake reach for his taser holster.

>Scanning...

.

**[SIG Sauer M17 Modular Handgun System]**

>8.0 inches , .357 ammunition, 9x19mm Parabellum , 17 rounds

He watched Officer Blake push his gun into the back of the man that shot his brother, and registered the muffled detonation tear into the flesh of the man that shot his brother. He watched the blood explode and pool under the body of the man that shot his brother.

His mind was still blank, his body still refused to respond.

* * *

Connor's damage wasn't irreparable. It wasn't even fatal. He wouldn't even have to deactivate. But Connor's memory upload was successful. He couldn't override the Safety Counter Measure; CyberLife had made sure of that.

“Come on, son, hold on, hold on,” Hank begged him.

They couldn't allow Connor's processors, his memories, his programs being leaked to a third party. So in the event the damages to an RK800 would prevent it from moving, from escaping, from hiding, from evading capture, there was the Safety Counter Measure; The acid cells in Connor's brain would melt everything down to nothing.

“Please, stay with me.”

He wanted to explain this to Hank, to Richard, to Sumo. But to prevent last second hacking, his communication programs deactivated one after the other. He couldn't explain. He couldn't override.

Or maybe he could. If he got rid of any power source, if he shut down before the safety Counter Measure could end, maybe...

* * *

Supposedly, Thirium was harmful to the touch. Hank didn't give a fuck. He held his son's head tightly, and through the blur of his tears, he saw Connor look back at him. His phone was blowing up with messages from Connor, but it was all corrupted nonsense.

“You're fine,” Hank whispered frantically, because that's what you said in those moments, even when it's a lie. Particularly when it's a lie. Connor's body was limp, felt like a ragdoll filled with sand. Only his left arm moved to grab onto Hank's jacket. “You're gonna be okay,” he repeated after another barrage of messages, and it occurred to him he told this lie to himself. Connor looked calm. Calmer than he'd ever been since he'd met him. “Hold on, okay ?” Connor's grip lessened, and no no no no, he couldn't just- He couldn't just- Not now, he was just beginning to get better, for fuck's sake ! “Please, no, the techs are here, see ? Please hold on.”

“He'll be fine,” one of the techs said after a short diagnostic. “His system has mended the Thirium leaks, he'll be fine.”

* * *

His hand fumbled around the rim of his hoodie. He tried to get under, to get to his chest plate, to get to his Thirium pump, or his Pump regulator, or a few major arteries. His automatic systems couldn't mend them all in time, maybe he could bleed out before... Before...

But his fingers couldn't find their way. His touch sensors were deactivated. His pressure sensors were deactivated. He had no idea where his hand was anymore. There was nothing he could do anymore.

His father's eyes were Thirium blue, Connor's system noted. His father's eyes were also filled with tears. Connor wanted to reassure him, but he couldn't communicate anymore.

* * *

Android dogs weren't programmed to handle their own distress; They weren't supposed to feel distress, or any other kind of feeling for that matter. Android dogs were supposed to support their Target Handler, soothe them, calm them down. So why was it his little brother that was trying to soothe him ?

>Message received from Lil' Bro Connor

>[?̷ ̷|̴)̶°̷z̴7̵ ̸W̸0̴Π̴ ̸Π̶µ̵]

.

>Message sent to Lil' Bro Connor

>[ **⚠** **(°●╭╮●)** **⚠** **]**

**.**

>Message received from Lil' Bro Connor

> **[MEMORY UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL]**

.

**[WARNING !]**

**[RK800 Connor Anderson] rejected your interface**

* * *

Connor's hand reached up, opened and closed, opened and closed, the universal sign meaning 'Grab my hand ?' And so of course Hank grabbed his son's hand.

“You're gonna be alright,” Hank ordered Connor, holding his hand tight against his heart. But the hand felt like a ragdoll filled with sand. But his eyes went still and unseeing. But his LED went from frantic red to dead dark. “Connor,” he called out through his tears. “Please not you too-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to complain, please leave a comment and it'll be reviewed in a timely fashion. 
> 
> As stated in a previous chapter note, I had an idea for the future of this fic. As it is quite spoilery, I don't know how to share this idea without, y'know, spoiling anything. But I also really want to know other people's opinion on it, because of reasons...  
> So if anyone's interested, please do share with me ! :D
> 
> Oh, and also, Sorry !


	13. Epilogue

Hank had been dragged away from his son's corpse by two sets of strong arms, didn't care whose. He sat on the curb, Sumo motionless in his lap, his endless whining vibrating under Hank's hand. Richard sat next to them, just as speechless, just as motionless. They were probably in shock, how else were they staying so fucking calm ? The two of them watched the technicians cover Connor in wires and scanners, making no move to prepare him for an ambulance ride.

“He shouldn't have deactivated from that.”

“Strange, the multimeter isn't picking any leftover processor activity.”

“Nothing from the bio components either.”

Hank clutched his phone like a lifeline, waiting for a text from Connor maybe, that would be great. Just one tiny little text, anything to let him know he was alive. Anything.

“Check the bleeder resistor, there should be some current left.”

“That's what I'm telling you, there's nothing.”

Connor was dead. Dead on the precinct's doorstep, killed by some insignificant junkie, after years of torture, after he just got him back, after all the progress he'd made those last months. And now the technicians were removing his cranium plate for some fucking reason. What the fuck were they doing ?

“Holy crap, what the hell ?”

“It's all... Melted ?”

What the fuck were they talking about, all melted ? What the fuck did that mean ?

“Hank ?” Richard's voice, trembling with static, pulled Hank out of his blank staring. “What are we supposed to do now ?” The old man had no idea. What was there left to do ? How were they supposed to keep going ? How was the suicidal guy supposed to know ?

“I got no idea, Rich,” he answered around the lump of dead weight in his throat, because what else could he tell him ?

His phone dinged. His heart leaped. He looked down at the cracked screen, at the dozens of corrupted texts he'd received an eternity ago. The last message didn't come from Connor. Of course it didn't.

>Message received from K9SB Sumo Anderson, Goodest Boy

<Conversation transcript=>

.

>Message received from Lil' Bro Connor

> **[MEMORY UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL]**

.

</Conversation transcript>

Wait.

Was that Connor's Cloud Backup System stuff ?

Did that mean Connor was still alive somewhere ?

“Holy Fuck, Sumo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, I hope you enjoyed ! Let me know what you think !


End file.
